


Wants & Needs

by MadcapRomantic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ABO dynamics, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Disability, Derek POV, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Run, Omega Stiles, Peter is a dick, True Mates, Violence, but not really, heat - Freeform, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadcapRomantic/pseuds/MadcapRomantic
Summary: Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a villain for the story, and Peter drew the short straw. I'd apologize, but I'm not -that- sorry.
> 
> All mistakes are mine.
> 
> On today's bingo card, please mark off the following: mates, true mates, abo dynamics, dirty heat sex, knotting, derek is emotionally stable, peter is a dick, & modern werewolf au.
> 
> If you'd like, check me out on tumblr as madcapromantic, or my exclusive Sterek blog as towhomthewolfkingbows.
> 
> Bon appétit.

Derek downshifts, biting his cheeks until they bleed to keep from snapping at his mother.

“And I mean, honestly, Derek - you’re almost thirty. I think this year, your luck will change.”

“Nine consecutive years, mom, and I’ve yet to be successful. I’ll never find a mate.”

“So what’s one more year?”

“And if I take part in the run this year,” Derek says through his teeth. “You’ll drop it?”

Talia Hale smiles at her son. “I know you’ll find your mate this time,” she says with an air of finality.

Derek decides the smart thing to do is stay silent. He’s already registered for the run, his mother dragging him down to city hall as soon as it had opened. The city’s sheriff had been near the door, welcoming all who were there to sign up.

Nine years. Nine long years of taking part in the mating run and coming back home empty-handed, without a mate, alone. Derek didn’t know if he could take it another time, the crushing defeat, another disappointment, but his mother wouldn't let up, insisted he participates at least once more. And, well, Talia Hale is a force to be reckoned with; once she decides something, it might as well be written into law. So, Derek resigned himself, dressed, and registered to participate in this year’s mating run. When he returns home empty-handed and mateless again, at least everyone will leave him alone for a while, even if it might only be out of pity.

At sundown, he drives himself to the edge of town, where the forest grows dense on the other side of the meadow. Within the clearing, a least a dozen tents have been pitched, and people are running in and out of them all over.

Laura, his older sister, waves him over to the tent that she’s overseeing. As he approaches, she hands him a clipboard so that he can sign in.

“I can’t believe you let mom talk you into coming again,” she tells him with a grimace. “Everyone knows your run of bad luck.”

“Mom’s one-hundred percent certain that I’ll find my mate this time. I’m mostly doing it because, for once, I’d like to rub her nose in it when she’s wrong.”

Laura throws her head back and genuinely laughs. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

Derek falters. “You think she’s right; you think I’ll find my mate, too, don’t you?”

His sister offers him a wink as she saunters away and returns to her duties.

Someone ushers Derek to the other side of the tent, where the mass of other alphas have gathered. The omegas have already been let loose into the woods hours ago; as is tradition, they always get a few hours head start.

The wind changes, and Derek catches the most alluring scent. It’s all honeysuckle and lilac, cinnamon and apples, and it makes Derek ache. He’s already taken a few steps forward before he realizes he’s even moved, and he digs his claws into his palms to snap himself back into the moment. Such a feeling has never overcome Derek before, the need to run, the need to howl, and he’s-

The pistol is shot, and he’s the first into the woods.

The cloying scent is pulling at him, filling his lungs, making his blood sing in his veins. He’s half transformed already, and he’s hardly past the tree line; when he turns to look behind him, the tents in the clearing are still visible. He snarls at an alpha that seems to be headed in the same direction, and the were snaps in return, but veers from his path and off in another direction.

The moon has risen, and the air has taken a slight chill. The forest is dark, but to Derek’s keen eyes, the stars light the forest through. He’s trailed the scent for what must be several miles, across streams, lost and found it a handful of times. It’s thick, now; the omega must be nearby. Derek pauses, inhales, pulls the scent into his lungs.

Someone screams.

Derek is off, a streak of black in the already dark forest. He hears a tussle, the scratching of flesh under nails, a keen slap, before he sees movement. There, on the mossy forest floor, lies the omega, _his_ omega, sprawled under another alpha, who is growling and snarling. Derek slams into the other alpha, sending them both careening over broken tree branches and piles of rotting leaves.

Theirs is a dance of teeth and claws, beat kept with snarls and growls and the snap of razor-sharp incisors. Derek feels absolutely feral as he swipes his claws at the other alpha, wanting nothing more than to draw blood to keep his mate safe.

One of his claws lands a blow, gouges the alpha’s neck. It’s not a fatal blow, but the other alpha will be out of commission for some time, at least long enough for Derek to claim his mate.

But when Derek turns around, the omega is scrambling away, crawling on his hands and knees.

Derek snarls, throws himself at the omega, wants to get the sweet scent under his hands, under his skin. Atop the omega, on his hands and knees, he lowers his head, opens his jaw to bite into tender flesh, to mark, to-

A fist clocks him square in the jaw, and Derek goes tumbling back more out of shock than anything. The omega is off again, scrambling and skittering across the forest floor, never making it to his feet, but putting distance between them all the same.

Derek howls. Oh, what a perfect little omega, tenacious and ferocious. It’s exactly what he wants, what he needs; not some demure, wispy thing to heed his beck and call, but a mate, a partner, someone who isn’t afraid to fight against him.

With a burst of speed, Derek is over the omega again, this time smart enough to pin his wrists. Derek takes stock of the creature below him; thin, but muscular, skin milky white with a smattering of freckles and moles across the entire expanse. The tunic the omega wears - as customary - has been shredded across one of his shoulders, leaving a sloping plain of creamy skin, dark flecks like stars decorating his skin. Derek’s mouth waters, wanting nothing more than to taste-

“Please, don’t,” the omega whimpers below him.

Derek freezes. His eyes move from the skin of the omega’s shoulder to his eyes, eyes that are a little unfocused, and looking anywhere but Derek.

“Please, please don’t,” a gentle, soft sob escapes the omega.

Derek sucks in a breath, trying desperately to regain himself. The omega below him is sucking in stuttering breaths, little bursts as he tries to swallow over the fear that Derek can now smell.

Off to one side, Derek hears the alpha he’d fought howl.

Below him, the pretty omega stills completely, breath frozen in his lungs.

It takes only a fraction of a second, but Derek devises a plan. “If I don’t claim you, that other alpha will.”

The omega shuts his eyes, bites his lips, his heart fluttering faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t. But if you let me claim you, I’ll keep you safe from that other alpha, I’ll protect you.”

“You swear it? You swear you’ll keep him away from me?”

Derek’s heart aches. The little omega is so scared of this other alpha, so terrified that he shakes, even under Derek’s iron-like grip

“I swear, on my honor as an alpha, that I won’t let anything ever hurt you again.”

“Not even yourself?”

Derek wants to ask this little omega what the world has done to hurt him so, make him fearful and frightened.

“I swear it.”

The omega throws his head back, baring his neck.

Derek punctures skin, and through his teeth trickles blood as he howls against flesh. The omega tenses, then relaxes completely, blacking out due to the rush of mating endorphins, going completely limp in Derek’s grasp.

The other alpha isn’t pleased, and he roars and charges, having managed to get his footing back. They roll a few times across moss and dirt before they right themselves. It takes Derek a moment to realizes who, exactly, the other alpha is.

“Uncle Peter?”

“I should kill you where you stand!” he roars, teeth flashing in the pale moonlight.

“He didn’t want you,” Derek challenges back, taking a step. “He bared his neck to me; I’ve given him my claiming bite. It’s against the law for you to interfere for the next twenty-four hours.”

Peter rages, roars, slashes a nearby tree. “You shouldn’t have interfered at all! The boy was _mine_!”

“The mark on his neck says otherwise. Now let me take him back to town, or I’ll lay you before the counsel.”

Peter roars again, his claws glittering with dirt and blood. For a moment, Derek worries Peter will attack again. But Peter looks to Derek, then to the boy asleep on the forest floor, before he leaps away.

It takes a few minutes for Derek to calm down enough to retract his claws. When he does, he scoops the boy up into his arms, burying his face in the omega’s neck and inhaling the calming scent.

When he’d woken up that morning, Derek had been adamant that he’d never find his mate. Now that he carries the omega that smells of lilac and honeysuckle in his arms, Derek’s whole world is tipping.

They are nearly to the clearing when the omega stirs against him.

“How do you feel?” Derek gently asks.

The omega stiffens, but he doesn’t fight to get out of Derek’s grasp.

After another few beats of silence, Derek tries another question. “Would you like me to put you down? Do you want to walk?”

The omega huffs, but doesn’t say anything else.

As they enter the clearing, Laura runs to meet them, smile plastered to her face. “Little brooother!” she sing-songs. “Looks like someone found his maaate~”

Derek snarls, and the omega jostles in his grip.

Laura just laughs. “I’ll find mom, tell her the news. You two head over to tent seven and finish up.”

When Derek looks down, the omega is still, his face stony. Derek doesn’t put him down, not yet. He likes the way the omega feels pressed against, safe in the scope of his arms. He would hold his mate like this close forever, if given the chance.

When they enter tent seven, Derek isn’t given a choice. The omega struggles in his arms, grumbles under his breath, until Derek relinquishes his hold and allows the omega to right himself. “Can you see the sheriff?” he asks, brushing the dirt from the tunic.

Derek’s blood runs cold. There could only be one reason for the omega to request the sheriff; to dissolve their bond. It’s well within his rights as an omega to refuse Derek’s claim, and given the nature of their bond - a decision made in the heat of the moment out of fear and biological drives - is it little wonder than the poor boy wants nothing to do with Derek?

“Stiles!”

Derek’s head snaps up at the familiar voice. His gaze meets none other than Beacon Hill’s sheriff, John Stilinski, the same man his mother had spoken with earlier that morning. The sheriff looks as surprised as Derek feels. “Stiles, are you - is this-”

The omega, Stiles, slips his hand into Derek’s. “Dad, this is, uh, this is my mate.” Through just the simple touch of their palms, Derek can feel his mate’s pulse thundering under his skin, like he’s anxious and afraid.

Derek offers his free hand forward. “Derek, sir. Though you know that already.”

John smiles, looking somewhat dumbfounded, but returns the handshake. “I have to say this is unexpected.”

Smiling, Derek gives Stiles’ hand a gentle squeeze. “For me, too, sir. But the wolf wants what the wolf wants.”

At that, John laughs, and the tension eases. At his side, his mate - Stiles - seems to relax a bit as well, but there’s a nagging feeling that Derek just can’t put away. Since his return, he hasn’t been able to scent his uncle Peter, and it’s put him slightly on edge. Not only that, but before, Stiles had been... well, standoffish isn’t the right word, but Derek isn’t sure what is. The omega had begged him not to bite him in the forest, was stiff in his grasp when he woke on their journey back, but now, next to his father, Stiles seems to be shy smiles and averted gazes. In fact, Stiles’ inability to look at someone above the waist is starting to bother Derek. Surely he isn’t mistreated-

Stiles tugs on his arm, and Derek bends slightly so their faces are close together. Stiles’ eyes are, oddly, closed. “Can we... can we go? Please?”

Derek lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. In a short while, the festivities would start; a buffet-style feast for the newly claimed, a chance for everyone to meet and greet the families of those claimed, but Derek had, honestly, forgotten about it. And, in truth, was absolutely dreading it; he’s not exactly a social butterfly.

“Anything for you,” he replies, his thumb rubbing little half circles against the back of his mate’s palm.

His mom will forgive him. If she wants to meet his mate so badly, she can come visit them at his house, before Stiles’ heat begins. They’ve got a few days to get to know one another, decide if they want to stay together. Additionally, Derek has no wish to be around when his uncle returns.

Stiles’ father produces a backpack from under one of the tables and helps his son sling it over one shoulder. Smart man - he knew, being the sheriff, he’d have to stick around until all of those signed up for the mating run returned; by keeping Stiles’ things with him, he insured that his son was able to take all that he packed as well as say goodbye without having to either return home, or stick around until well-past midnight, when the festivities ended.

Derek absent-mindedly waves to Laura on his way to the parking lot, Stiles still clinging to Derek’s hand with both of his own. He’s gone quiet again, a little stiffer now that they are out of the tents, but Derek hopes it’s more to due with the large amount of people around and not anything to do with him.

Like a gentleman, Derek opens the door for Stiles, helps him inside. He gets a small, muttered, ‘thanks,’ but it’s enough to make him smile.

Something inside him is shifting. He climbs into the driver’s seat of his Camaro, gently easing the car onto the road, feeling warm all the way down to his toes. He’s not sure if it’s Stiles, or merely the idea of having a mate, but something inside Derek eases, unclenches, and unravels.

In the seat next to him, Stiles shifts. “Were you serious?”

Derek glances at him for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Before you claimed me, you promised to keep Peter Hale away from me, promised that you’d keep me safe. Were you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Derek finds himself saying, without even a moment of hesitation. “But can I ask why you’re so adamant on getting away from him?”

“You can ask,” the omega says, rubbing the tip of his nose with two of his fingers. “But I’m probably not going to answer.”

For a moment, Derek is silent. Then, the laughs. The sound must startle Stiles, who jumps slightly, but then lets a small smile press his lips upward.

“You always like this?” Derek asks, intrigued.

Stiles shrugs, turning his head away to face the passenger’s side window. “Honestly, it’s a miracle I’ve been this quiet.”

Derek’s laugh turns deeper, louder. “Good.”

“I mean it. By the end of the week you’re going to want to strangle me.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Prepare to be proven wrong. Positively, absolutely, one-hundred percent wrong.”

“My wolf picked you for a reason; I trust my instincts.”

Almost dejectedly, Stiles sighs. “No good alpha wants a talkative, stubborn, bossy, messed up omega.”

“This alpha wants a partner, not someone to be subjected to his will. If I wanted a pretty face that would present on command, there are easier ways I could have gone about obtaining one.”

And oh, the boy blushes so beautifully. Stiles is quiet the rest of the drive, but it’s a comfortable silence.

Once the car rolls to a stop and Derek kills the engine, the tides change. Stiles’ heart-rate amps up, and Derek can his his throat clicking as he swallows.

“I want you to understand that this is as new to me as it is to you,” he begins. “I’ve participated in the mating run for nearly a decade now, and I never thought I’d find someone. I’m kind of a solitary guy, you know? I work from home, and I live outside of town. My pack is small, and mostly independent. But, I meant what I said about keeping you safe, not hurting you. If there is something that I’m doing that you don’t like, you tell me and I’ll stop.”

Stiles curls in on himself, hugs his shoulders inward. “Alphas don’t offer, they take.”

Derek sighs. This might be more difficult that he anticipated; Stiles obviously doesn’t trust him. He exits the car, walks around it, and opens Stiles’ door for him. He doesn’t make a sound when Stiles intertwines their fingers, merely lets his mate cling to him as they make their way into the house.

“Are you hungry?” Derek asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m...”

“Yes?”

“I’m tired, and I’d like a shower, if that’s okay.”

“Anything you want. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

Stiles’ foot catches on the bottom step, but Derek easily rights him. “Careful; that bottom one is a little lower than the rest.”

“Warn a guy first next time, yeah?” Stiles scoffs.

Derek opens the door to Stiles’ room, flicks on the light for him, ushering him inside. “Bathroom’s next to the closet there; you’re welcome to use anything and everything. It’s my guest room, so don’t worry about using anything in the tub or on the counters; I’ve got my own supply of everything in my own bathroom.”

Stiles turns on his heel, faces Derek, but still won’t look in his eyes, won’t even turn his face up to meet him. Derek hopes he can change that, wants to change it. The boy fidgets for a moment, swallows. “Did you need to - to-”

“I would like to scent you, but I won’t if it makes you uncomfortable.”

After a long, quiet moment, Stiles raises a shaking hand upward.

Derek, as delicately and gently as he can manage, takes Stiles’ hand in his grip, brings Stiles’ wrist to his lips, and rubs them across the seam. He listens as Stiles’ breath hitches, feels his mate’s pulse quicken under them. Stiles’ skin is soft beneath his lips, and it makes Derek’s mouth water with the prospect of kissing every square inch of the boy, finding how soft his skin his _everywhere._ The boy smells like heaven this close, and Derek can’t help himself; his tongue sweeps out and he tastes warm skin under the roughness of his tongue.

But the spell is broken; he’s scared Stiles, who practically rips his hand away from Derek’s mouth, tight-lipped and wide-eyed.

Derek clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I got - I’m sorry.”

Stiles shakes his head, retreats a few paces backward into his room, and gropes the door for the knob a few times before finding it. He gently closes it, as though he’s somehow afraid Derek will put his foot in the way and stop him. Derek does no such thing, realizing he’s overstepped a line he was already toeing. After a moment, when he doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the door, he sighs.

“Goodnight, Stiles. Please don’t hesitate to find me if you need something.”

Stiles is quiet on the other side of the door.

Derek goes to bed that night, alone and aching. 


	2. Discovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek comes to realize what he's been overlooking about his mate.

When Derek wakes the next morning, it’s because his phone is ringing. It’s a client from his firm, and Derek knows that despite what awaits him in the guest bedroom across the hall, he _needs_ to take this call. He answers, trying not to sound as though he was just roused from sleep, but if his client can tell, they make no indication.

Derek pulls on a pair of sweatpants with one hand as he hops around his bedroom. Once his pants are on, he slips from his bedroom and slinks down the hall, into his office. He pulls a few files from their drawers and spreads the papers out on his desk. He unrolls one of the blueprints he’d been keeping on the shelf, makings sure to place paperweights on the four corners to keep the entire thing from rolling back up again.

The phonecall is relatively short, but the changes in the design he needs to make will take a good while.

Which is why he’s flustered when Stiles knocks on the door to his office.

“Come in,” he says, though he’s got a pencil in his mouth and a pen and eraser in each of his hands.

Stiles opens the door, but doesn’t actually enter the room. He takes a breath, then another, as if readying himself to speak. “Could you, uh, could you show me to the kitchen? I figured we could do breakfast together.”

And while there’s little more that Derek wants more than to spend time with his sweet omega, he spits out the pencil and shakes his head. “I’m going to be a little bit longer; I got a call from a client this morning, and have to make a few changes to some blueprints I drew up earlier in the week. Feel free to look around. You’re welcome to anything you find in the kitchen, though.”

“Are you fucking _kidding me_ ?”

Stiles’ curse causes Derek to sharply turn his head up. Stiles, in the doorway, has his fists clutched tightly, and his cheeks are red. His gaze is fixed on the carpet, resolutely, and Derek, for some reason, feels he’s completely left out of the loop.

“You know what?” Stiles starts, obviously beyond flustered. Then, he sighs, deflated. “It doesn’t matter.”

And then, as quickly as the omega had started, he simply steps back and shuts the door.

Derek stands motionless as he hears Stiles shuffle down the hallway.

He’s halfway torn between finishing his work and going after Stiles when he hears a dull thump and a loud crash. Derek swears under his breath as he throws his utensils to the table, ready to tell off his mate for his behavior; breaking things just to get his attention? And over something as petty as simply not joining him for breakfast right away?

It isn’t until Derek is in the foyer that he senses that something is wrong. Stiles is on his ass in the middle of a wet mess; from the looks of it, he’d bumped the table when he’d gotten to the bottom of the stairs, and the vase of flowers Derek had put there a few days before last had tipped and crashed to the floor.

But that’s not what catches Derek’s attention.

It’s the way that Stiles is groping around the remains of plant debris and shards of glass without looking at his hands that cuts Derek to his very core.

“You’re blind?” he all but whispers.

Stiles goes stock still, his breath catching in his lungs.

In a heartbeat, Derek is down the stairs at Stiles’ feet, sweeping bits of glass off his omega’s sleep pants.

Stiles, however, isn’t having any of it. He swats Derek’s hands away in a furious manner, his arms pinwheeling, and now Derek understands _why_ . When Derek stops touching him, Stiles scoots away through the mess on the floor. Derek sucks in a breath and flinches when Stiles cuts his hand on a shard of glass, but doesn’t reach out. Stiles obviously doesn’t want anything to do with him, and Derek can hardly blame the boy.

It’s a tense few moments while Stiles scoots across the floor and finds the stairs. Once there, he turns around, huffing and puffing, and Derek can smell the salty tang of tears in the air without having to see them. He waits until he hears the door to Stiles’ room close.

He’s somewhat numb as he picks up the mess, so unsure over what he could possibly do. How could he have been such an idiot? How could he have not noticed that Stiles was _blind_? Oh, god, he’s the most monumental idiot on the face of the planet.

He should have realized it before; in the woods, when Derek was bringing Stiles back to the meadow and asked if the boy wanted to walk, he'd merely scoffed. Then, in the tent when he'd asked if Derek could see the sheriff. Again, tripping on the low step in the foyer, and the way he'd groped for the door handle and how he never looks up to meet Derek's gaze and-

When the mess is cleaned up, and he’s sure there are no remaining shards of glass, no overlooked droplets of water, Derek walks into the kitchen and out the back door, onto his back porch. Once there, he digs his phone from his pocket, then dials the only person who might be able to talk him down.

“Derek? What on earth are you doing calling me this early? Laura said you went home with your mate last night, but-”

“Mom.”

“Sweetie?” At once, Talia is alert, her voice calm but commanding, Alpha through and through. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“He’s blind.”

Talia’s silence does nothing to ease Derek’s worries.

“Mom, he’s blind and I didn’t even _notice_ . I’m not - he’s - _what do I do_?”

“Tell me everything.”

And Derek does, everything from running Peter off, to giving Stiles his claiming bite, despite his initial reluctance, all the way up to finding Stiles sprawled out on the floor and Derek’s ridiculously late discovery.

Finally, his mom speaks. “You don’t know much about your mate, do you?”

Derek sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How can I? We’ve hardly been around one another half a day, and most of that was spent sleeping in different rooms.”

“You don’t get out of the house much, and you’re not prone to gossip like the rest of your siblings, so I’ll tell you now; not too long ago, Stiles was involved in an accident.”

“An accident?”

“Details are scarce. Apparently, Stiles has only been blind for a few weeks.”

“ _Weeks_?” Derek parrots, dumbstruck.

“But, the rumor is that the entire thing wasn’t an accident at all.”

Derek freezes. “You mean?”

“People are saying that someone intentionally wanted him blind so they could-”

“Could _keep him._ ”

The mere idea of it makes Derek’s stomach churn, twisting and churning until he’s sure he’s going to vomit.

The concept of kept omegas has been outlawed in every major developed country in the world, though there are still some backwater places that refuse to let the practice go. The way it used to be was that an alpha who claimed an imperfect omega - an omega disadvantaged in some physical way - would be paid by the omega’s family to take their 'broken’ omega away, like a dowry. But from something simple, something nefarious was born; alphas would purposefully hurt omegas to gain not only a good sum of money, or even land, but to ensure their omega mate could never leave them.

Once the concept of dowries was outlawed, alphas claimed omegas with disabilities or severe disadvantages simply for the status symbol - alphas that claimed a disadvantaged omega as a mate used it as proof to show that they could provide better than other alphas; after all, an omega with particular or peculiar needs meant that an alpha had to be financially secure to take care of them. And while not all disabled omegas that were mated were toted as a status symbol, it still happened.

What's worse, over the last few decades, cases of alphas purposefully hurting omegas in some way kept cropping up with more frequency in developed countries...

Which means that if someone purposefully blinded Stiles, it was because they wanted him, wanted him enough to become deranged into thinking that hurting him in some way might mean the sprightly omega would be more willing to leave the safety of his father's house and fall in line as a mate to...

To someone like Peter.

Derek snarls, vision bleeding red. “Peter fought me in the woods for him. When I gave Stiles my claiming bite, Peter almost came at me.”

“Did you-”

“I threatened to take him before the council if he didn't back off.”

“Derek, did you and Stiles consummate your bond yet?”

Derek scrubs his face. “No. He was so scared last night, he hardly let me scent him before he went to bed. I didn't want to push him, I didn't want to make him feel like he couldn't tell me no, and-”

The doorbell rings, the sound shrill in Derek's ears. He curses himself for being so distracted he hadn't heard an approaching vehicle. Now that he's more alert to his surroundings, he can smell the acrid tang of gasoline in the air.

“Mom, it's him.”

Talia swears. “I'm on my way. If he challenges you for Stiles-

“I'll kill him,” Derek snarls through fangs.

He pulls open the front door, only mildly aware he's crushed his cellphone in his clawed hands as he walked across the house. Sure enough, Peter stands on the threshold.

“I've come to challenge you for what is mine, nephew dear.”

Derek swings, his right fist connecting with Peter's stomach and sending the man flying backwards off the steps. He growls, snaps as he tromps down the steps, bare feet hitting the dirt. “Did you hurt him? Did you make him - are you responsible for-”

Peter narrows his eyes, as if he's affronted by Derek's accusations, but there's a glint in his eyes that makes Derek's stomach drop to his feet. “How dare you-”

Derek roars. “I will defend my mate with my life!”

Peter snickers. “You haven't properly claimed him; he's not your mate, not yet! Not ever, if I have anything to say about it.”

Peter charges, but Derek is ready. It's a gruesome skirmish, teeth and claws, blood and more than a little fur. Derek has Peter beat in strength, yes, but Peter is quicker, more experienced, and guesses on more than one occasion when Derek means to strike or feint.

Derek manages to wrestle Peter to the ground, blood on his claws, in his mouth, in his vision, when he hears the quickening beat of a heart.

“Derek?” Stiles says from the doorway.


	3. Associating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as many of you commented, I apparently did a good job of making you not think Stiles is blind until the reveal? I just wanted to say thanks to those of you that spoke up and said something because, honestly, I was a little worried it was obvious and clunky. It means a lot.
> 
> Cheers.

The call of his name makes Derek pause, makes him look up, and it’s what Peter needs to turn the tables. He flips Derek, pins him, and swipes his claws across his throat. Suddenly, Derek can’t breathe. There’s blood in his mouth, down in throat, but there’s no longer any weight pinning him down, because Peter-

Stiles screams, and when Derek manages to turn over, he sees Peter pinning down the boy on the hardwood floor of the foyer. The young omega is fighting tooth and nail against Peter, who is starting to overpower him.

Rage boils up in Derek, fury without equal, and, despite the blood trickling down the back of his throat, dripping down his chest until his pants are wet and discolored, he throws his head back and howls, dredging up strength from god only knows where. He pushes one foot in front of the other, dragging his bare, bloody feet across the dirt.

Stiles is still screaming, still fighting off Peter with every ounce of strength he has, but without being able to see his assailant, all he can really do is pinwheel his arms, hoping they connect.

Peter’s fangs are inches away from Derek's mark, and Stiles, who has started to sob, screams Derek’s name in fear.

And just like that, Derek’s joints pop and crack - he howls in pain and doubles over, his hands transforming into - into - into _paws_.

He rushes on four legs, body slams his uncle who goes sprawling into the staircase, hitting the back of his head with a thundering crack.

It’s hardly a moment later that Derek hears the screeching of tires on asphalt as the familiar rumble of his mother’s car cuts. The floor trembles beneath his paws as those from his pack flood through the front door.

Hunched over his mate, who is sobbing and still trying to scramble away, Derek growls at the intruders to his home.

His mother finally comes into view. “Boyd, Erica, and Laura - take Peter and get him into the car. Isaac - get the first aid kit from under the second floor bathroom sink. Wet some towels with hot water and bring them down as well, please.”

She turns her gaze to her son.

Derek growls.

Stiles whimpers.

“Derek, you need to transform back, now. You’re scaring your mate. He needs you.”

And just like that, Derek’s rage dissipates and his limbs slowly slip back to human form. When he puts his hands on Stiles’ biceps, the boy screams and kicks out, still scared out of his mind.

Derek takes a surprisingly well-aimed kick to his gut, but endures. “Stiles,” he calls, trying to keep his voice gentle and even. “Stiles, it’s me. Please stop. Please, Stiles.”

Talia kneels next to her son. “Keep talking to him, Derek.”

“Stiles, it’s me, it’s Derek. Peter’s gone. You’re safe, I promise. I’m here, I’m-”

“Derek,” Stiles says between great heaves of breath. “Derek, Derek please! You said, you said you’d keep me safe, you said you’d keep him away from me, you-”

Derek smooths down Stiles’ hair with his hands, the omega seeming so small in his grasp. He presses gentle, hurried kisses to Stiles’ forehead, feeling completely lost. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, it’s okay. He’s gone.”

Stiles manages to wind his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling Derek down on top of him. He’s shivering, sobbing against Derek’s neck.

Isaac thuds down the stairs, his arms full. He drops all that he’s carrying at Talia’s feet, next to Derek. He looks shaken, his normally sharp eyes wide with fear and anxiety. Talia gently pats his knee before she reaches toward the pile.

“Derek, I need you to sit up so we can get you and Stiles clean.”

Derek hesitates, like his brain needs a moment to process his mother’s words. Eventually, he manages to sit up, pulling Stiles up into his lap. Stiles refuses to let his death grip around Derek’s neck lessen, however, but Derek can hardly blame him. He has one hand on the nape of Stiles’ neck, the other smoothing gentle circles into the small of his mate’s back.

Talia nears Stiles, warm, damp cloth in hand. Derek startles; Stiles whimpers, even though he can’t actually see Talia nearing. His senses must be cranked into overdrive, considering the ordeal he’d only just gone through, and it makes something fierce and possessive roil Derek’s stomach.

Talia isn’t the alpha of her family for nothing, however, and hands Derek the towel, obviously easily reading the situation.

Derek nuzzles into Stiles’ neck. “Stiles?” he calls, gentle. “I need you to let go so I can-”

“No!” Stiles all but screeches, scrambling to wrap his arms even tighter around Derek’s neck. “No, no, no!”

Derek shakes his head, slowly moving to his feet.

“Derek, what are you-”

“He needs to feel safe. I’m taking him to my room. We’ll come out when he settles back down, alright?”

His mom nods as she stands, ushering Isaac to stand behind her as Derek struggles to stand with Stiles stuck like an octopus to his front. His mate whimpers in his arms, but he manages to take the stairs two at a time. He tries to disengage Stiles once more, but the boy whimpers, his shoulders shaking, and Derek sighs, drained. Instead, he walks right into his bathroom, turns the shower on, and steps inside - clothing, Stiles, and all.

It takes a good, long while before Stiles stops shaking, before the iron-like grip becomes pliant enough around Derek’s neck that he can untangle the omega’s arms. Slowly, as to not scare him, Derek strips them both, trying to be clinical about it, non-threatening. Stiles lets him, docile in a way that worries Derek.

Once they are both clean of blood and dirt, Derek shuts off the water, wrapping Stiles up in the biggest, fluffiest towel he owns before wrapping one around his own waist. He helps Stiles dry off, who is almost catatonic in the way he lets Derek maneuver him as he pleases. Derek is relieved when Stiles at least helps dress himself, even if it’s in Derek’s clothes. Even Derek’s smallest henley is too big for the boy, hanging off one shoulder. There’s a sudden lump in Derek’s throat that he swallows past, looking at the mark he placed on Stiles’ neck the day before.

Slowly, he reaches up and cups Stiles’ face in his hand. “You with me?”

Stiles takes a moment to answer, but eventually he nods into Derek’s palm.

“You still... you still smell like him.”

The omega immediately grows stiff, breath shallowing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Derek murmurs, pulling Stiles against him. “You’re okay. It’s okay. I just, I need to scent you, but I don’t want - god, Stiles - I can’t. _Please_.”

Stiles leans into Derek’s chest and sighs out a breath he can barely hear. “Take me to bed.”

His heart suddenly in his throat, Derek merely nods as he pulls away, pulls Stiles toward his unmade bed. He maneuvers Stiles gently to the middle of the mattress, then lowers his body on top of that of his mate. Stiles shudders under him, but wraps his arms back around Derek’s neck, sighing into the skin of Derek’s shoulder.

And, god, Derek can’t help it, can’t keep his hands off his mate, the brave boy who fought Peter despite his fear. He places one hand on Stiles’ hip, rubbing circles into the skin above the waistband of his pants, then moves his lips across the cut of Stiles’ jaw.

What surprises Derek the most, however, is the way Stiles turns into the motion and captures Derek’s lips in a hint of a kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, and just the smallest bit needy, and it makes Derek melt. He presses into the kiss, returning it, but keeps it chaste.

Stiles pulls back. “Derek, I-”

Derek kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

“Derek, I want-”

Derek wants Stiles to tell him that it’s _him_ that his mate wants.

He surges forward, capturing Stiles’ lips again, gently pressing his tongue to the seam of the omega’s lips. Stiles whimpers under him, but opens up without hesitation, the wet heat of his mouth making Derek groan above him. Stiles’ tongue is a scorching heat, mouth molten as Derek licks every inch his own tongue can reach.

But no matter how he wants this to keep going, no matter how he wants to push Stiles down into the mattress and kiss every part of his body until the only word the boy can speak is Derek’s name, Derek eases, slows, until all they are exchanging are gentle presses of their lips, until they are simply breathing in one another’s space.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers. “I didn't know you hadn't realized I was, than I'm-”

Derek presses a kiss to the mark he left on Stiles’ neck. “Don’t be. You're perfect.”

Stiles hiccups, shudders, his scent souring like the last thing he believes is in Derek's words. “How can you still want me after all that? I’m blind, and Peter Hale is willing to kill you to get me. Derek, I’m not worth it. You should just call my dad, tell him you want to dissolve-”

“Stiles,” Derek growls against his mate’s skin. “You’re my mate. I was ready to kill to keep you safe. If you think I’m just going to-”

Stiles shuts him up with a kiss, one that starts fierce, then tempers out.

Thereafter, there are no more words. They simply hold one another until Derek can feel Stiles’ heartbeat slow as it pitters into the rhythm indicative of sleep. Though wishing he didn’t have to, Derek slowly extracts himself from Stiles’ grasp, pulling the bedcovers up and tucking his mate into the safe cocoon of his bed. He’s as careful as he can be closing the door, and he waits a moment afterward, listening to Stiles’ heartbeat, to his breathing patterns. Satisfied he hasn’t woken his mate, Derek begins downstairs.

His mom is waiting for him on the couch with a cup of tea and a tender smile. He sits on the couch next to her, taking the offered tea and drinking deeply. It’s still warm, though no hot, and it helps his stomach settle.

“You transformed into a full wolf,” his mom says, as if Derek doesn’t remember.

“I didn’t mean to. I saw Peter poised above Stiles and and I just started to turn.”

“Your throat healed.”

Derek raises his hand, pressing fingers to his throat where he’d felt Peter tear it open. Under his fingertips is nothing but smooth skin. To be honest, he'd completely forgotten about it.

His mother smiles. “A were’s healing abilities accelerate dramatically when their true mate is in peril.”

Derek’s hands freeze. Hell, his brain rolls to a stop, all cognitive thought feeling as though it’s dripping out of his ears, slow and sticky like molasses.

“You’ve never fully transformed before. Even with blood as pure as ours, full transformations are rare, Derek. But, your wolf recognized when it’s true mate was in danger, and acted accordingly.”

Derek stands, puts his teacup down, and paces. “That's not - we're...” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mom, that's just-”

“It's not a fairytale, Derek, not a story. It's very real, just exceedingly rare.”

He shakes his head again. “How is it possible that we live in the same city and haven't met before? How-”

“I don't have every answer, sweetie, but I can speculate. Stiles is quite a bit younger than you, and this was his first run. It's possible your wolf refused to recognize him until he was mature enough.”

“This was his first run?”

Talia nods, putting down her own cup atop the delicate little saucer. “This will be Stiles first heat since he presented. To be frank, I’m surprised he ran, with how new his disability is.”

Derek scrubs at the stubble on his chin. “I worry that he ran so he wouldn’t end up being a burden on his dad.”

“Did he say something to indicate such?”

“He didn’t really have to; when I first was bringing him back to the meadow, he was stiff in my arms, like he was uncomfortable. As soon as we were around his dad, he was sweet smiles and hand-holding. Then, when I got him in the car to bring him back here, he clammed up again.”

“I can see how you came to the conclusion. Truthfully, I’m amazed he did at all, considering the circumstances he lost his vision under. He must have not known that Peter would be eligible to run.”

Derek clears his throat to keep from growling over the mere mention of his uncle. “What happened? If everyone is suspicious, why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

Talia sighs. “I don’t really think that’s something I should be discussing with you instead of your mate.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He shifts in his seat uncomfortable.

His mom covers one of his hands with hers. “But, I’m not sure how open Stiles will be about all of this, and I can see it’s distressing you. What I tell you doesn’t leave this room, do you understand?”

Enthusiastically, Derek nods and leans forward, more than eager to hear everything. “Maybe two months back, Stiles was involved in a car accident. Police reports say that he must have slid on the pavement - it was that night a while ago we had a tremendous rainstorm. Stiles’ vehicle hit a tree, but it was way out on the back road, so it was hours before anyone even realized he was missing. By the time they took him to the hospital, he’d suffered severe nerve damage from his untreated wounds. Nothing broken, but minor internal bleeding. The only other thing that was wrong was that Stiles had gone blind. Because of the head injury, Stiles claims he doesn’t remember anything, but several staff at the hospital heard Stiles wake up during his first few hours there screaming for someone to stay away, all while mentioning the name Peter.”

“That’s all?”

Talia shakes her head. “Peter claims he was home all night, but he doesn’t have anyone to confirm his alibi.”

“How do they even know one another, then?”

“A month before than, Peter propositioned Stiles at the bakery he used to work at, part-time after school. Stiles refused, but Peter grew persistent, kept coming in every day, wouldn’t leave the poor boy alone. According to the staff, Stiles says he didn’t feel safe, considering the manager wouldn’t just kick Peter out, so he quit. After that, Peter tried to ask Stiles’ dad, but he refused, told Peter that his son was free to choose his mate.”

Derek unclenched his fists, tried to unclench his jaw. It wasn’t an odd thing, to call Peter the black sheep the family. Though he claims that he’s made his fortune completely legally, he’s been investigated more times by the local police and it, quite frankly, has always made Derek nervous. And, despite Talia being the alpha of the family, she only held so much control over her family; she couldn’t command them who to be, how to act in their everyday lives.

“After Peter was rebuffed by both Stiles and his father, I made him swear he would stay away from the boy.”

“Yes, I can see that’s worked perfectly,” Derek snaps.

Talia gives him a sharp look. “If you hadn’t told me he’d come after Stiles on the run, I wouldn’t have known. He didn’t tell me he was even participating. He must have been a last-minute entry. I can’t imagine that Stiles would have run if he’d known Peter was going to, as well.”

Derek wants to run this abundance of energy off, wants to punch something until it’s nothing, wants to howl at the moon, wants to-

The thunderous palpitations of a heart break him out of his spiraling thoughts, thrumming in the back of his mind.

For a moment, Talia regards him guardedly before her eyes widen and she gasps. “You can sense his heartbeat? I can’t hear it from all the way down here, but you can, can’t you?”

Derek doesn’t know how to feel. His gut threatens to revolt, and he shifts, uncomfortable. He stands, jogs up the stairs, and gently knocks on the door to his own bedroom. “Stiles?” He calls out, trying not to let worry seep into his voice.

He hears Stiles sniffle on the other side of the door, hears the rustle of bedcovers moving. “Derek?”

“Can I come in?”

The long moment of silence makes bile rise in Derek’s throat. Finally, _finally_ , Derek hears a muffled, “yes.”

He nears the bed, but stops short, not wanting Stiles to feel pressured. “Can I sit down?”

Stiles draws his legs up, so he’s sitting with them crossed, then nods. Derek hears him swallow.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, I think. A little shaken up.”

“I can imagine.”

“What about you? I smelled blood outside, but I wasn’t sure whose it was.”

“Both mine and Peter’s, actually.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”

The acrid smell of discontent floods Derek’s scenes. He scoots forward on the bed, gently reaching for Stiles’ hand to hold between his own. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m already healed, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I got you mixed up in this stupid mess. If Peter would just leave me alone-”

“You’re my mate-”

“I’m broken-”

“If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have given you my mark-”

“But-”

Derek knows it’s a sneaky tactic, but he kisses Stiles to quiet him. Stiles puts up a moment of protest, but Derek pulls back, nuzzles his mate, then kisses him again. Stiles reaches up, frames Derek’s face with his palms, smiles. “I wish I could see you,” he sighs, and where Derek is expecting to smell the sour scent of discontent again, he doesn’t. Stiles leans forward and kisses him again, and again, and again, easing Derek’s heart.

Finally, they slow, pull apart. Stiles’ eyes are half closed, a rosey hue present on his cheeks. This close, Derek can see better the moles his mate is bespeckled with, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to each one he can see, each on he can reach.

“I won’t let anyone else have you, Stiles,” he professes, confesses, pressing his teeth to the mark left the day before.

The way Stiles’ breath hitches, the way his heartbeat stutters, then fluttering faster than before, only makes Derek grow more bold. He pulls at the Henley Stiles is dressed in, revealing a creamy shoulder, dotted with freckles and moles. “Not anyone.” He nips at the soft flesh.

Stiles gasps, twists against him, winds his hands around Derek’s neck. Arousal is pouring off him like waves on a beach; constant, unrelenting.

“No one, Stiles.” A kiss to his throat. “Only me.” Another alongside the hinge of his jaw. “Not my uncle-”

“Your uncle?”

“Peter. I won’t let him-”

Derek is suddenly, and very unceremoniously, pushed backwards and onto the floor. He looks up, mouth agape, and Stiles, who had only just moment ago been kissing him, is pressed against the headboard, looking wild and afraid.

“Derek. Derek _Hale_.”

Derek stands. “I thought you knew.”

Stiles shakes his head, and Derek can smell the tears welling up in the corners of his mate’s eyes.

“Stiles, I-”

“No!”

Despite the fear, the commanding tone is Stiles’ voice throws Derek off for a moment. “Stiles, I thought you knew, I thought-”

“I won’t belong to him! I won’t!” He’s yelling now, and Derek is beginning to grow more than worried.

“Please, Stiles, I’d never do anything to-”

“Is this all a hoax? Some kind of joke? Did he sic you after me and then once you've used me, you’d toss me aside, and I’d just, what? Crawl to him? Because I’m blind? That no mate could possibly want me? That-”

Derek surges forward, grabbing Stiles’ hand, pressing it over his beating heart. “I’m not doing this for Peter! I claimed you because _I_ want you.”

Stiles stills, but then shakes his head, pulling his hand back. Despite being able to feel the steady rhythm of Derek’s heart, his mate still doesn’t believe him, thinks that he’d hurt him just because Peter-

“Get out,” Stiles whispers.

Derek doesn’t move.

“Please. Please, _please,_ just leave me alone.”

Derek does what he’s asked, even if, internally, it’s killing him. If he wasn’t sure Stiles was his true mate before, he does now; it’s a physical pain that hits him as he closes the door, puts distance between them.

Talia is still waiting in the living room for him.

“Mom,” he says, on the brink of tears. “Mom,” he says into her shoulder as she pulls him close. “He thinks I - he’s - but I’m not-”

Talia hugs her son. “Give him a little time, Derek. He’ll come around, once he’s calm enough to talk about it. You’ll see.”

Though Derek can’t hear Stiles crying in his bedroom, he can feel it in his heart.


	4. Easing

His mother, eventually, leaves. Derek cooks dinner - just goes through the motions of it, really - and sets a plate outside Stiles’ door; he'd heard Stiles retreat back into his room - the guest room - not long after the last they'd spoken. He knocks, lets his mate know there’s food if he’s hungry, and that he would like to talk, but he’s met with nothing other than stony silence. 

He goes back downstairs, for lack of anything better to do. He paces, turns on the TV, washes the dishes. Suddenly, it’s midnight, and Derek’s confused, because it feels like time has been skipping, that he’s lost track of it completely. He creeps upstairs, and is secretly delighted when he sees the empty plate in the hallway. Stiles has eaten the food he’s provided, and his wolf preens. It’s short lived, however, when he knocks on the door again and hears nothing.

That’s what makes Derek, pause, however; the lack of sound. He knocks again, calls out a little louder, then braces himself and just opens the door. The entire room is dark, but to Stiles, it obviously wouldn’t matter. With the door open, he can hear the faucet in the bathroom going, full blast.

When Derek hears a shaky breath, he realizes the tap is only on to drown out Stiles’ sobbing.

He flicks on the light, marches across the bedroom, and pushes open the door to the bathroom until it’s completely open. He reaches over the sink, turns the faucet off, and kneels at Stiles’ side, who’s hunched over on the closed lid of the toilet, hands pressing into the short-cropped hair that dusts his scalp.

Stiles jumps when Derek touches him, but doesn’t pull away. He’s shaking, his gangly limbs trembling like he’s freezing, but the skin under Derek’s fingertips is warm and soft. “Let’s go sit down on the bed,” he suggests, keeping his voice low, gentle, soothing.

After a moment, Stiles nods, lets himself be herded into the other room and ushered onto the plush mattress. He doesn’t lie down, just sits and curls back over his legs, breath stuttering. “Sorry,” he gasps, and Derek sees his face is wet with tears.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, falling against Derek’s chest.

Taken by surprise, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. “Stiles, you don’t have  _ anything  _ to be sorry for. It’s not your fault you didn’t realize Peter was my uncle; and I get why you reacted the way you did, with how hard he’s been pursuing you. But I meant what I said when I told you I won’t let him hurt you.”

Stiles hiccups in his arms. “But this can’t possibly be what you wanted wh-”

“Don’t.”

Stiles stills.

“This isn’t what I expected, sure. I never expected  _ easy _ ; I’ve been participating in the run for  _ ten years _ . But you? Stiles, you’re  _ exactly  _ what I want.”

“You’re not going to call my dad?”

“Unless you’re the one who wants to end this, I’m not going to send you away.”

“Oh.” And Derek is suddenly upset, because he realizes that Stiles seems to think so poorly of himself that he’s convinced Derek can’t possibly want him after the trouble he’s caused.

“Do you want to leave?”

The grip Stiles has on Derek’s sleeve tightens, and the boy shakes his head minutely.

“Then we’re good,” he says, pressing a kiss to his mate’s forehead.

“I'm sorry I accused you of... With your uncle.”

“Don't be. I understand why you thought those things. There really isn't anything other than my word that I can give you to ensure that I'm not working with him, but I want you to understand that if you don't feel comfortable here, I won't make you stay. If you want to go, you can go.”

The quiet between them stretches, long and somber. Finally, Stiles speaks. “I want to stay. You fought him off me, you helped me through multiple panic attacks. It's quick, but, God, I already feel so attached to you. It's stupid, I know-”

Derek swoops in, kisses his cheek. “It's not. Mating instinct or not, I've never felt like this before.”

_ I just want to keep you safe, forever _ , is what Derek keeps to himself. Too quick, too soon. He can't rush this, can't chase Stiles off.

Against him, Stiles smiles and relaxes. “I need to stop jumping to conclusions. I'm just used to people having ulterior motives.”

“My mother spoke to me about how Peter hassled your father after you turned him down.”

Stiles scoffs. “Turned him down? I was ready to file a restraining order. He'd stay in the shop until I was done with my shift, just watching me, then he'd follow me to my car. My best friend is an alpha, and I asked him to stop by when he could as I was leaving work just so I had someone to walk me to my car in case your sleazeball uncle thought kidnapping me was a good idea. He thought Scott - that's my friend - was trying to court me, which is why he went to my dad next.”

“But your father is a progressive man.”

“Damn right,” Stiles laughs. “My mom was an omega, and she never let him get away with all that alpha posturing crap. He never misbehaved when she was around.”

“Was?”

Stiles' scent sours. “She passed away when I was young. Eight or so.”

“I'm sorry.”

“She'd of liked you.”

And that startles Derek more than just about anything Stiles has said so far. “Really?”

“You don't treat me like a thing. You care what I have to say, what I want to do. Omega rights have come a long way, but it was rough when she was growing up. Still is, in some places. But you told me that you want a partner, and I knew she'd approve.”

Derek's heart beats a little faster, he breathes a little shallower. He nuzzles Stiles, who is smiling sadly against him. “Are you hungry?” Derek asks, just to keep away from silence.

“No. The meal you made earlier filled me up. Just sleepy.”

“Your heat's coming; it'll be like that for a few days, until it hits.”

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Derek wants to tell Stiles he'll stay with him until the  _ universe crumbles _ . Instead, he nods, and presses his nose into the crook of his mate's neck.

In less than ten minutes, Stiles is asleep in his arms.

Though it practically kills Derek, he extracts himself from the bed, tucks Stiles in and leaves the room, lets Stiles have his peace.

It’s a cold night, alone in his bed with his mate just across the hallway, but Derek endures, knowing that Stiles’ emotional health and well-being are more important than any posturing Alpha instincts gnawing a the back of his mind. He smiles at the ceiling, thinking of the progress they've made.


	5. Reconstructing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for this chapter: Derek and Stiles talk a little openly about sex. It's not super explicit, and it's a fairly short conversation, but I need you to all be aware of how important consent is to Derek, even if he's struggling with it. If this isn't your cup of tea... honey, how did you even get here?
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say; thank you, to each and every one of you who leave kudos or comments. Legit, that's why I'm keeping this story going. It means the world to me.

Derek wakes with the sun. Despite sleeping poorly through the night, he feels mostly rested, alert to the sounds in his house. Across the hallway, Stiles slumbers on. Derek rises, showers, then heads downstairs to make breakfast.

Cooking is a form of meditation to Derek, and he loses himself in the making of food for he and his mate. He makes a plate of silver-dollar pancakes, and waffles with the leftover batter. He chops fruit, toasts bread, and sizzles up a pan of bacon, sausage, eggs, and hashbrowns. It’s not long before the meal is ready that he feels Stiles stir, hears a door open upstairs, the gentle press of bare feet on carpet hardly a whisper in his ears.

Stiles stands in the doorway, and Derek’s heart skips a beat. “Morning,” he says, looking his fill.

Wiping sleep from his eyes, Stiles greets him, smiling almost shyly. “Mornin’. Smells good. Do you need any help?”

“Almost done. You can have a seat at the table to your left, and I’ll be right there.”

Stiles takes his seat, long fingers playing with an earlobe.

“Sleep well?” Derek asks, bringing two plates to the table.

“Uh, yeah. Comfy mattress.”

Derek smiles, glad to see his mate somewhat placated. “I’m not sure what you like,” Derek tells Stiles as he starts bringing everything to the table. “So I cooked just about every type of breakfast food I had. Fruit, pancakes, waffles, toast.”

“I’m not a picky eater.”

“Mind if I dish you up?”

Stiles ducks his head, and it makes Derek’s mouth run dry. “Uh, yes. Sure.” The tips of his ears are turning a lovely shade of pink, given the implication; Derek wants to prove he can provide for Stiles, even if it’s something as simple as preparing and offering him food that he’s made.

They eat in comfortable silence. When they are finished, Derek puts everything in tupperware containers while Stiles washes the dishes. Then, Derek brings Stiles to the living room and has him sit on the couch. Derek takes the seat next to him, but puts himself far enough away that they aren’t touching, they are still relatively close.

“So, uh-”

“What do blind kids do for fun?”

Derek is glad he's not drinking anything, because he'd have choked on it.

Stiles laughs, delighted. “It's fine, dude. I get it. Uh, movies are okay. Maybe something I've seen before.”

“Any, uh, any requests?” Derek inquires, still feeling off-base.

“Okay, so, better you hear this now, rather than later; I'm a nerd, so anything involving comic book or superheroes is a must.”

Derek grins. “Tell me now, and be advised that the wrong answer will get you kicked out of my house; Marvel or DC?”

Stiles laughs, throws his head back and really lets go. “Oh, shit, no pressure, right? Can't we, like, all just get along? I love me some Batman AND Iron Man. Why do I have to choose?”

Derek leans up and kisses Stiles full on the mouth. “Correct answer,” he says, standing. “Avengers?”

Stiles curls into the couch, smiling, rosy hue present on his cheeks. “Perfect.”

And it is. Stiles immediately sets into his theories, of Hawkeye's brainwashing, and the fact that he's functionally deaf in the comics is never even glanced upon in the film. Derek fires back with his own idea, of how Loki acts like he, himself, was brainwashed, and the obvious after-signs of torture. Even after the credits rolls, they keep talking.

Derek fixes them lunch, they  _ keep  _ talking, and Derek comes to realize it's the happiest he's been in years. His mate is clever and witty, talkative, and Derek  _ loves  _ it.

The Winter Soldier is next, which opens another can of worms when it comes to theories, and Civil War comes after that, though they order a pizza between the two. It's with a heavy heart Derek glances at the clock and comes to realize how late it actually is. But another day passed is another day closer to Stiles’ heat, and while it might not be a fun conversation, Derek knows he needs to breach the topic somehow.

“I don’t really know a delicate way to bring this up, so I’m just going to be blunt about it. I need to know what you want, what you expect, for your upcoming heat.”

Stiles’ face turns the brightest shade of red Derek thinks he’s ever seen skin actually flush. “Oh.”

The quiet between them is heavy.

“I don't really know what to say here. You know this is my first heat, right?”

Derek swallows hard and nods, then realizes the motion can't exactly be seen by his mate. “No. I mean, yes, I know.” Derek swallows again. “I know this isn't the easiest of topics, but I need to know what you want and need from me so I can take care of you.”

“I won’t remember most of it,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek’s stomach clenches. “That’s not okay.”

Stiles pauses, his eyebrows drawing downward as confusion sets into his features. “Most omegas don’t remember their first heats, so it really doesn’t matter what-”

“Who made you feel like what you want doesn’t matter?”

Stiles stills, heaves a sigh. “Everyone; school, the media, other people.”

“Don't. Think of what your mom would say, to hear you talking about yourself like that. I meant what I said on the drive here, that first day we met; I want a partner. In the forest, when you started to fight against me, I knew you were  _ perfect _ . I want someone who will tell me when I’m wrong, and won’t back down when I’m an asshole. I need you to tell me what you want; if we knew one another better, I could guess, but I don't want to just assume.”

Stiles is quiet for a long time. Eventually, he takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and nods. “Okay. I know what to expect from, like, what they teach in school, but I don’t really...” He makes an exaggerated motion with his hands.

“That’s okay, it’s fine; everyone is different. First and foremost, I need to know if you have any allergies; you’re going to need to eat and drink as much as you can, and if there is anything you have a reaction to or just don’t like, tell me now. I should have asked before, honestly, but, well, there’s been a lot going on.”

“No allergies, but...”

“But?”

“I really hate honeydew and cantaloupe.”

Derek smiles, glad they are getting somewhere.

“And, when it comes to actual sex, is there anything you're uncomfortable with?”

“Don’tknotmymouth,” Stiles says in a hurried whisper.

Derek wants to ask what kind of awful porno taught him that, but he, thankfully, shuts his mouth before he can say anything. “Absolutely. What about actual knotting?”

Stiles shifts. “I mean, I guess. It helps with the heat symptoms, right?”

Derek smiles at how embarrassed his mate sounds, though he feels bad. He understands Stiles’ reluctance to speak openly about his sexuality, given that he's both inexperienced and young. But Derek refuses to put himself in a position that could upset or hurt his mate.

“Can you... can you give me a little bit to think about this? Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

Stiles is still at least a day away from his heat, so Derek agrees, wanting to make his mate as comfortable as possible. Even so, Derek feels this is a conversation they  _ have  _ to have, embarrassing or not.

He stands, turns off the TV with the remote, then gently takes Stiles’ hand in his. “It can wait until tomorrow.” Derek guides them upstairs, opening the door to Stiles’ room for him.

Stiles takes a few steps into the room, drops their hands and lets his arms fall to his sides. “Do you want to scent me?”

Derek very narrowly misses swallowing his growl. “Yes,” he finally breathes, taking a few steps toward his mate and gathering him up into his arms.

Immediately, Stiles arms wrap around his neck. He startles as Derek shoves his face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, inhaling. So much for holding in that growl; he can feel it reverberate out of him and through Stiles’ skin, who gasps in his ear. “Derek,” he whispers.

Derek rubs the side of his face against that of his mate, and Stiles quietly chuckles at the tickles of Derek’s facial hair. The sound morphs into a stuttered hitch of breath when Derek takes the lobe of Stiles’ ear into his mouth, pulls gently with his teeth.

And then Stiles bares his neck for Derek, and it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, the most beautiful gift he’s ever been given. He growls again - can’t help it - and bites at the mark on Stiles’ neck. He’s careful not to break skin, but the press of his teeth is still slightly rough. In his arms, Stiles keens, his hands scrabbling at Derek’s shirt in hopes of gathering up enough material to hold onto.

Derek reaches down, cups his mate’s rear, and hefts Stiles up into his arms. Stiles’ knees, bent, clutch tightly at Derek’s hips as the alpha moves to sit on the bed. Once seated, his hands coast up Stiles’ back, and the boy twists in his arms and seizes Derek’s lips with his own.

It starts frantic, their exchange of kisses. But, under his fingers, in his ears, Derek can hear Stiles’ frenzied heartbeat, and he gently, gradually, slows their movements.

Finally,  _ finally _ , he pulls back, and is left nearly speechless at the sight of Stiles, rosy-cheeked and kiss-drunk, his mouth slightly parted, his breath coming shallow and fast.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, his hands carding through Derek’s hair.

“You’re perfect,” Derek practically purrs, kissing his mate again.

But, Derek knows that if he doesn’t stop now, he won’t later, so, grudgingly, he peels Stiles off his lap and sets him on the bed. “I should go,” he says, surprised at how wrecked he sounds.

Stiles reaches out and cups his jaw, brings their faces close. “Just one more,” he pleads, every so sweetly, and who is Derek to deny such a request? He leans forward and captures Stiles’ mouth in another sweet, sweeping kiss.

He pulls back before he can move to press Stiles into the mattress. He can’t be,  _ won’t be _ that alpha - no matter how he wants to take Stiles, here and now, they need to speak more about their expectations. He’d never be able to forgive himself if he hurt Stiles, even on accident. The last few days have been hard enough on the both of them, with the revealing of identities and whatnot. Derek’s not the type of man to relieve his stress with something as base as physical pleasure.

“Good night, Stiles,” he says as he stands, his feet practically dragging on the floor. He feels like he’s trying to walk through water.

There, safe on the other side of the door, Derek pauses, holds his breath. He listens as Stiles heaves a sigh, then hears the obvious sounds of him falling back upon the bed covers. Derek has to bite his cheek until it bleeds to keep from opening the door again.


	6. Collapsing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there be porn. In order to avoid any spoilers, I'm putting the tags for this chapter in the notes at the bottom of the page. Please heed them.
> 
> Thanks, everyone, for the kind words of encouragement, as well as your patience. Shit kinda got rough for me in the past month, but things have cleared up, and I'm looking at a considerable larger amount of free time in my immediate future.
> 
> Bon appétit.

Derek lets Stiles sleep. It’s been several days, and his heat hasn’t hit, so Derek knows that it’s only a matter of time. An Omega doesn’t oversleep before their heat; it’s more like they store energy for what's coming. Either way, it's past noon when Stiles finally meanders down stairs. His hair is a mess, stuck up in some places, and flattened from sleep in others, and it makes Derek's heart flutter in his chest.

“Morning,” Stiles says, plopping next to Derek on the couch.

“Afternoon,” Derek counters, chuckling. He gently takes Stiles’ hand in his, and then presses a bowl of cut fruit into it. “Here. Keep your strength up.”

“Is it always gonna be like this? I feel like my feet are cement bricks, and I'm pretty sure I officially know what cotton-mouth is.” He smacks his dry lips together for emphasis.

Derek presses his water bottle against Stiles’ knee. The omega gropes for it, then drains half of it in between bites of pineapple and mango. “Not sure. But, just let me know if you need something.”

Stiles nods, sighing contentedly into another bite of pineapple.

“I never asked,” Stiles starts, sucking the last bit of fruit juice from his fingers, “what you do for a living.”

“I'm an architect.”

Stiles' eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That's cool. Anything in particular you like doing?”

Derek thumbs his jaw, spends a moment to think. “I like designing schools, actually. I like it when buildings get lots of use, but are more, I don't know, organic. There's something stuffy about designing office buildings that seems so clinical. I like schools, elementary schools in particular, because it takes me out of my comfort zone and encourages me to be a little more creative. I have to make sure countertops and drinking fountains are the right height for the kids, or that stairs aren't too high for them. I've only done it once before, but I was hired to design playground equipment for kids under ten, and it was challenging and, actually, pretty fun.”

When Derek looks up, Stiles is smiling. Grinning, really. “I can tell you really like it, the way you talk about it.”

“What about you?” Derek counters. “I heard you worked at a bakery for a while. Did you like it?”

Stiles shrugs. “It wasn't bad, but not really what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“What  _ do _ you want to do, then?”

Stiles pauses. He swallows, and when he speaks, his voice cracks a little. “I wanted to look into law enforcement, like my dad, or maybe do some computer programming.”

Derek's heart sinks into the pit of his stomach, makes it churn. He feels like  _ quite _ the idiot. Being blind, Stiles can't be a cop. And while Derek doesn't know much about programming, he suspects, what with the forlorned tone of Stiles’ voice, being blind would make the endeavor more than difficult.

“I'm-”

“Don't say you're sorry,” Stiles snaps. “I'm so sick of people telling me they’re sorry. Sorry doesn't make me not an omega, sorry doesn't give me my sight back. Sorry doesn't help me.”

“What would?”

Stiles is quiet again, this time for longer. Finally, he sighs. “I don't know.”

“Have you looked into what other things you might be interested in?”

The omega swallows, crosses his arms. “Maybe when I'm more used to not being able to see, I will. It's been hard, adjusting. At home, my dad treats me like I'm an invalid. I don't blame him; he's adjusting, too. It's just... I don't know. I feel like I am trapped in my own body. Things that used to be easy are hard now. Unless a book has an audio format, I can't read it. All my old comics might as well be blank pages now. I'm going to try to learn braille, but I don't know if I'm patient enough for it, what with how animated people always say my hands are. My dad has to help me pick out my clothes, at least until we can devise a tagging system that lets me figure out what color everything is.” Stiles' voice cracks, and Derek worries he's made the boy cry. But Stiles doesn't shed any tears, not a single one, his brave omega. “Besides, even if I wanted to go to to school, it's not like many alphas permit their-”

“I would.” Derek's even a little startled by his own declaration. “I - if you stay with - I mean...” He pauses for a moment, just breaths. “If you wanted to go to college, or even a trade school, you should.”

When Derek looks up at Stiles, the boy's mouth is open in astonishment, though his eyebrows are creased as if he's confused. “You'd... I mean, that's. Well, it's progressive, even by today's standards. Less than a quarter of mated omegas are allowed to go to school by their alphas.”

“You are your own person. You should make your own decisions.”

And,  _ oh _ . His mate's cheeks turn the prettiest shade of ruddy pink, making his freckles and moles that much more prominent. Derek hears Stiles’ heartbeat kick up - he can practically feel it. It makes him want to lean forward and lick a stripe up the pale column of Stiles’ throat.

Stiles clears his throat, takes a studdering breath, his sadness slowly ebbing, and the tension in the room is broken. “Oh. I, uh. I made a list.” Stiles digs his phone out if his pocket. “It's saved to the second screen, with your name as the title.”

“A list?” Derek asks, accepting the phone.

Stiles' cheeks turn a shade darker. “Of what I think I'm okay with. For, um. For my heat. Don't open it yet, though.”

Derek swipes his thumb across the screen, pulling up the second face, and a quiet, gentle voice says, “screen two.”

Derek jumps a little, not having expected it.

Stiles actually smiles, and Derek  suspects it's in response to him being caught off guard by the disembodied voice. “A friend of mine programmed my phone to narrate most smaller apps and settings, so I can still get around. I can make calls by saying a person's name, and it transcribes what I say after I start my notebook app. It's helped a ton.”

“It's impressive. I think an app like this would be great on the market.”

Stiles' smile widens, though it's a bit sad. “Maybe I can talk him into expanding it. I know it would be a big help, but I don't know what it's limitations would be. Danny's a good guy. We didn't hang out much before... Before the accident. But he came to visit me in the hospital, and then after I was released. He's a good guy.”

Derek smiles, and even if Stiles can't see it, Derek  suspects he might hear it in his voice. “He sounds like a good friend.”

Quiet settles over them. Stiles pushes his head back into the cushion of the couch. His lids fall, looking heavy. “How am I this tired already?” He sighs.

“You're storing energy. If it's your first heat, it might be kind of rough.”

Stiles rubs the heels of his palms against his eyelids.

“If you want to take a nap, I can whip up something for lunch.”

Nodding, Stiles yawns. “You're amazing,” he mumbles, already halfway asleep.

Derek's cheeks heat at the compliment. He places Stiles’ phone on the coffee table; he'll look over the list a little later.

In the kitchen, he grates parmesan and whisks an egg into the shredded cheese while bacon and garlic fries in a pan on the stove. When another pot of water on the stovetop comes to a boil, he drops in some spaghetti noodles. Everything comes together and, in the end, Derek brings two steaming plates of carbonara into the living room. 

He pauses in the doorway; on the couch, Stiles is curled up, clutching the blanket Derek keeps folded up on the arm, his face buried deeply against the fabric. Derek fights down a contented, possessive growl.

Instead, he gently nudges Stiles until the omega awakens. It only takes a moment for Stiles to go from groggy to awake. “Smells great,” he says rubbing at his face.

Derek hands him a plate. “Spaghetti carbonara,” he responds. He flips on the TV and channel surfs until he finds some movie he's seen a hundred times.

After a few moments, Stiles perks up. “Count of Monte Cristo?”

“Yeah,” Derek answers, after swallowing a bite. “The newer one.”

“I read the book. It's huge, and a little boring in places, but I liked it.”

They finish their meal, and watch the rest of the movie.

After the credits roll, Stiles talks; it does more than delight Derek, getting to know his mate. He hears all about Stiles’ dad and his best friend, Scott, and all the trouble they’ve gotten into over the years. Derek hears about how school is, which teachers Stiles likes and which ones have it out for him. After a time, he’s practically falling asleep sitting up, mid-sentence.

Derek gathers him up, and Stiles makes no protest, instead snuggling into the joint of Derek’s neck and shoulder.

“Come on,” he smiles against his mate’s hair. “Nap time. Again.”

Stiles hums in agreement, and is solidly asleep when Derek tucks him into the bed in the guest room.

Back downstairs, Derek pauses a moment. He can hear - he can  _ feel _ Stiles’ heartbeat in tandem with his own. It makes his chest tight, makes him  _ want. _ But he won't force himself on his mate, True or not. He wants Stiles to want him, first.

But there, sitting so innocently atop the coffee table, is Stiles’ phone.

It takes Derek a full five minutes to gather the courage to pick it up. He swipes to unlock, and his thumb hovers over the file marked with his name. Eventually, he taps it. An simple white page with black lettering is pulled up.

_ Derek, _

_ I just want you. _

The room is too hot, and there’s not enough air in it. Derek paces the length of the living room, trying to get ahold of himself, trying to trample down the urge to run up the stairs, pin Stiles to the mattress and claim his mate. His heart is pounding, and he knows that if he doesn’t calm himself, he’ll wake the boy asleep upstairs.

He forces himself to stop, relaxes his clenched fist. He swallows, sighs. Takes one deep breath after another. Slowly, he climbs the stairs. Stiles is asleep in the guest room; he can tell as much without having to listen to the even, gentle breathing pattern behind the door. Derek quietly shuts the door to his own bedroom, then crosses it and enters his bathroom. He starts the shower, turning the knob all the way to cold, and steps in as soon as he’s divested himself of clothing.

When he feels like a prune, he stops the tap and sighs, pressing his head against the wall of the shower. The call to his mate is strong, growing stronger every moment Stiles’ heat grows nearer. But he can do this, he can wait until Stiles-

There comes a knock on the door from the other room. Derek sighs again, wraps a towel around his waist, and debates actually answering. But, he knows he can’t deny his mate, so he wipes his wet feet on the bathmat one more time before crossing the room and standing in front of his closed bedroom door.

“Derek?” The call on the other side of the wood is quiet, muted, like Stiles is afraid he isn’t waiting on the other side.

Despite knowing it’s not the best of ideas, Derek opens the door.

He’s instantly assaulted with the heavy scent of mate, of want. But, underneath it all is uncertainty. 

“Is it time? Is it your heat?” Derek queries, reaching out and placing his hands on Stiles’ elbows.

Stiles shakes his head, and Derek comes to see that Stiles is crying.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I want...”

Derek cups Stiles’ face. “What? What do you want?”

“You,” Stiles whines. He shakes his head, his studdering breath betraying the sob he’s trying to reign in. “I want to remember my first time.”

It’s like the gun’s gone off at the starting lines; there’s a drumbeat in Derek’s brain that’s so loud he almost doesn’t hear what Stiles says next.

“I don’t know if sex outside of heat is on the table, but, God, I feel like I can’t control myself when I’m around you. These last few days have been the most confusing in my life, and I feel this pull toward you, whenever you’re out of the room, and I know it’s crazy and I can’t explain it but-”

Derek quiets Stiles’ erratic stream of consciousness with a searing kiss. He gathers the boy in his arms, his hands roaming all over Stiles’ lithe, wiry framework. A growl begins, from deep within, and doesn’t relent until Stiles pushes the both of them backwards and, together, they tumble to the bed.

Even though he wants to tell Stiles that he feels the same pull - the pull of True Mates - the words get caught in his throat. He doesn’t want to scare the boy, doesn’t want to make him panic over the prospect of ‘forever’ when he’s still so young. It’s cowardly and selfish, but Derek can’t form the words, can’t force them out of his mouth. Instead, he maneuvers the both of them so that Stiles is straddling his hips, gives his mate all the control he needs.

There’s an uptick in Stiles’ heart, and his breath starts to come fast. The boy’s cheeks are a rosy hue, as compared to the the rest of his face, the color blotching his skin all the way down his neck, plunging under the neckline of the shirt of Derek’s he’s still wearing. He’s got his hands splayed on Derek’s chest, his mouth open and panting, and Derek thinks there isn’t a more beautiful sight in all of the world.

God, if he wasn’t convinced of his mother’s words before, there’s no way he can deny it now; Derek can physically  _ feel  _ their hearts beating in tandem. It’s beautiful, as beautiful as the boy panting and shaking above him, as beautiful as the stars in the night sky.

Pushing up his legs, he bends his knees and places his hands on Stiles’ thighs. Stiles quivers under his touch, and Derek growls again, wanting to chase away all of Stiles’ fears.

Atop him, Stiles moves to the side slightly, adjusting his leg, and then settles back down so the crack of his ass is aligned perfectly with Derek’s cock. They both gasp. It’s like an electric current has been run through Derek’s entire body, his nerve endings lighting up like they’ve been set on fire. Stiles whimpers above him, then moves his hands and plants them next to Derek’s head so he can lean over and steal a kiss.

“Please,” Stiles begs into Derek’s mouth.

“You have to tell me what you want, Stiles.” He’s not teasing, though Stiles whines like he thinks Derek might be. But Derek wants Stiles too much to mess up now. He wants to hear Stiles say-

“Fuck me.”

Derek’s dizzy with how quickly he flips them over, his hands a flurry of motion as he pulls his own clothes off Stiles’ body. It’s heartbeats before Stiles is naked under him, miles of creamy skin dotted with moles like stars in the night sky. He snarls, can’t help it, and while Stiles jumps, he smiles and laughs, pulls Derek down and brings them together for another kiss.

Derek slows the press of their lips, moves his mouth down the cut of Stiles’ jaw, kisses a trail down his neck. He places a gentle bite atop the one he’d left on Stiles’ skin days before, wanting so much to renew it. It’s already fading, but Derek won’t bite again until Stiles’ heat, until he’s knotted deep inside his mate and-

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and arches his back, rubbing his naked erection against Derek’s own. Derek doesn’t know when he lost the towel, and he doesn’t think he cares. In retaliation, he nips again at the mark, making Stiles moan.

He moves down, slowly, laving his tongue across Stiles’ collarbone, attaching his mouth to a dusty pink nipple, causing Stiles to gasp and call Derek’s name. Slender fingers card through his hair, pulling just slightly, and Derek growls, pleased with the sounds he can pull from his mate.

Gently, he pulls back. He unwraps Stiles’ legs from around his waist, rises up to kiss him. “Turn over for me.”

Stiles keens, bites his lips, and rolls over. His pert little ass is almost enough to make Derek turn feral right then and there, but he holds it in as best he can. Even so, he’s having a hard time keeping his claws in, so he knows his shouldn’t use his fingers until he can get himself under better control. Being sure to only use the palms of his hands, Derek spreads Stiles’ cheeks apart.

Above him, however, Stiles freezes.

“Do you not want me to?” Derek is amazed how low and gravely his own voice is.

It’s a tense moment. “No, I’d like... I just mean, only if you want to. I know some alphas won’t-”

Derek snarls over the idea of other alphas being mention in his own bed by his mate. He bends down, licks a wet strips across Stiles’ hole, then nips at a cheek.

“We don’t do this based on anyone else. We do this for us. I want to. Do you want me to?”

Stiles buries his face in Derek’s pillow. “Yes,” he whispers, his heart beating its way out of his chest.

Derek rumbles his pleasure, getting right back to work. He presses his face into Stiles’ crack, nosing at the pink little pucker, taking great inhales of Stiles’ scent into his lungs. Stiles shudders, and when Derek licks at his hole again, the boy keens, the sound muffled by the pillow.

Derek takes his time, takes apart his mate with his tongue and, when he can manage to reign in his claws, his fingers. Stiles makes the pretties of sounds above him, whispers his name when Derek twists his tongue, shouts it when he curls his fingers. With gentle, but insistent fingers, Derek pulls Stiles up, so his rear is on display, his knees bent but his head still pressed against the pillow.

“Please,” Stiles sobs. “Please, Derek.”

Snarling, half-feral, Derek rises to his knees. He pries Stiles’ cheeks apart with his thumbs, and presses the tip of his fat cock against his mate’s hole. So close to his heat, Stiles is pliant and soft in his grip, his muscles lax from Derek’s attentive ways. He pushes inside and Stiles gasps, his toes curling.

Stiles fists his hands into the bedclothes, gulping in great heaves of breath, shuddering with the press of Derek entering him. He whines, thrashes just the smallest bit, calls out Derek’s name in a hoarse whimper.

But Derek won’t go faster, won’t run the risk of hurting his mate. The press is easy, and,  _ moon above _ does he just want to let go, yet he restrains himself. If this is Stiles’ first time, Derek wants to make it perfect for him, wants his mate to know what it’s like to come apart and be brought back together, piece by piece.

Below him, Stiles reaches back with one hand and pulls at the grip Derek has on his hips. Derek lessens his grip, but he doesn’t let up entirely, won’t risk Stiles trying to pull his hand away so he can force himself back. But all Stiles does is entwine their fingers together. When Derek looks up, Stiles eyes are tightly closed, lost completely to sensation.

It feels like eons have passed by the time Derek is completely inside the slick, white-hot heat of his mate. He doesn’t move at first, keeps still, lets Stiles adjust to the feeling of being penetrated. He stills for himself, too, unwilling to simply start drilling the boy into the mattress like some deranged animal.  _ Fuck _ , the things his mate does to him; Stiles’ heat hasn’t officially hit, and already Derek is so close to losing control.

Stiles tightens the the grip where their fingers are woven together. “Please,” he says again, like it’s some magic word that will get Derek to do anything for him. And isn’t it just the damndest thing? Because it’s so close to the truth it makes Derek shiver. “Please,” he cries again, this time high-pitched and wanting, and who is Derek to deny him something that he, too, wants so desperately?

Derek pulls out, slowly, then pushes back in, his hips pressing flush against Stiles’ ass. The omega wails, gasps, pulls so hard on the grip he has on the sheets that the fabric rips. His fangs threaten to push past his gums, but Derek leans forward, releasing the grip he has on Stiles’ hand and hip so that he can press the entirety of his chest along his mate’s back. Stiles moves his hands up to brace himself, but Derek catches them, laces their fingers together, and presses them tightly to the mattress as he begins a punishing pace.

“So perfect like this,” he hears himself growl, his lips pressing a kiss to Stiles’ sweaty temple. “Like you were made for me.”

He hears Stiles sob beneath him, feels him turn his head so that their lips catch in an angled kiss.

It’s not enough for Derek. He pulls back, pulls out, despite Stiles’ protests. He flips his mate on his back, winds wiry legs around his waist, and presses back in. Stiles cries his name, his arms gripping Derek’s shoulders so tightly Derek can feel blood rush to the surface of his skin. He snarls against Stiles’ neck, wishing his mate’s marks would last on his skin.

“Derek,” Stiles cries. “Derek, I’m-”

Derek pulls back, but not out; just enough so that he can see his mate’s face as he pushes him over the edge. He’s not far behind, can feel his muscles tightening, can hear the rush of blood in his head.

And then the most remarkable things happens; Stiles tenses, arches like a bow, comes, and  _ his eyes glow silver.  _ It’s a shock, but Derek is already so close to the edge that he can’t help but fall, emptying into the sweet, hot clench of his mate. He’s gasping for breath, both in pleasure and in sheer wonder of the creature below him, who’s crying Derek’s name like it’s a prayer, shivering, shuddering.

Derek is dumbstruck. It takes a moment for his head to clear after his orgasm, and another for his breathing to normalize. 

Below him, Stiles throws an arm over his face, pressing his nose into the crook of his own elbow. His body is wracked with sporadic tremors, and Derek’s become sensitive enough that they begin to hurt, so he slowly pulls out, still unsure of what, exactly, has happened.

“Are you alright?” It’s the only thing he can think to say, doesn’t know how to breech the subject of Stiles’ eyes lighting up like a string of christmas lights.

Stiles smiles, then reaches up and cups Derek’s face in his hands, bringing him down and pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss. “It was perfect,” he sighs. After a moment of Derek hovering above him, his scent sours for a moment. “Are you - are you alright?”

Derek chews his lip for a moment. He doesn’t think Stiles knows what happens, and in his eagerness not to cause his mate distress, he feels it might be a topic to discuss later, when their afterglow has faded.

_ Ha _ , he thinks.  _ Afterglow _ .

He presses another kiss to Stiles’ swollen lips. “Yes,” is all he can say. He stands then, untangles their limbs, and steps into the bathroom. He procures a washcloth from under the sink, then runs the tap until the water is warm. When he returns to the room, Stiles is starfished on his bed, the scent of content and pleased warming in the air. He leans over the boy, but the idea of wiping Stiles’ come from his belly seems like such a waste. His wolf snarls inside his head, and before he can help himself, he leans down and laps at the cooling stripes painted across Stiles’ creamy, mole-dotted skin.

“Oh,  _ oh _ ,” Stiles whimpers, obviously not having expected it. He cards his hands through Derek’s hair. “You won’t have to, you don’t-”

Derek nips playfully at Stiles’ side. “I want to,” he reiterates, not for the first time that night. “I want to taste you.”

Stiles shivers below him.

When Derek feels that Stiles’ stomach is cleaned well enough, he swipes the still-warm washcloth across the skin he’d only just been lapping at, just in case he’d missed a spot. He nudges Stiles with his free hand, and the boy turns over as ushered.

The sight of his own come dripping out of Stiles’ puffy hole pulls a snarl out of him. Stiles gasps beneath him. “Derek?”

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, though the words sound like they’ve been dragged through fire before they were spoken.

Stiles’ breath hitches, his heart stutters.

“Can I-”

“Yes,” Stiles answers, before Derek can even finish.

Derek leans down, pulling Stiles’ cheeks apart. The mixed scent of them is intoxicating, makes him moan. When he gently laps at Stiles’ entrance, the omega whimpers, pushing his face back into the pillow, but before Derek can ask if he’s hurt the boy, Stiles raises his hips just the slightest bit, and Derek’s wolf howls at the way his mate is practically  _ presenting  _ for him.

It’s only when he’s satisfied that Derek pulls away, swipes the washcloth up the crack of Stiles’ ass and earns a surprised hiss. “Does it-”

“Cold,” Stiles interrupts. “Doesn’t hurt. I don’t think you could hurt me. Just cold.”

Derek crawls up the length of the bed. Now that his mind is clearing from the fog of sex, he thinks back to the glow of Stiles’ eyes. He means to ask his mate, but he can already feel Stiles’ heartbeat slow, his breath evening out as sleep pulls him into its clutches. It’s less than a minute before Derek feels Stiles’ body go limp in the span of his arms, and he decides that their conversation can wait until Stiles has rested a bit.

He extracts himself from the bed and pulls on a pair of boxer-briefs before heading downstairs, swiping his phone from the top of his dresser as he leaves. As soon as he’s in the kitchen, he dials his mom.

“Derek? Is everything alright? Is Stiles-”

“I think there’s something wrong with him. He - mom - I-” Words feel heavy as bricks in his mouth.

“Slow down. Start early, tell me what happened.”

“He came to me, earlier. His heat hasn’t set, but he wanted...”

“I see. Keep going.”

“I took him to bed; I couldn’t say no. It was - god, mom, it was perfect. He’s perfect.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“When he... His eyes glowed silver.”

“His eyes  _ what _ ?”

Derek swallowed. “I saw his eyes glow silver. It wasn’t a trick of the light, or some kind of reflection. It looked like his eyes were lit up from the inside of his head.”

His mom’s sudden silence makes Derek start to panic.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“No, I cleaned him up and he fell asleep. I came down to call you first. I wasn’t sure- I didn’t want to-”

“I want you not to say anything to Stiles. He might not know. I don’t want him to have to deal with any added stress, not when his heat is so close. I’m not certain what it means, but I can make an educated guess. I need to make a few phone calls, and I’ll let you know when I have something, alright?”

“Mom, no, he’s-”

“If the glow didn’t hurt him, it sounds like he might not even know it’s there. Omegas don’t deal with stress well this close to their heats, Derek, and he’s already dealing with enough, considering the entire fiasco with your uncle. I need you to promise me you won’t speak to him about it until everything settles. He’s already dealt with enough..”

Derek’s silence makes his mother growl into the phone. “Derek, promise,” she snaps, using her alpha voice.

Swallowing, Derek’s lips tremble. “Is he in danger?”

“No. No, if this is what I think this is, he’s not in any kind of danger.”

“Then I promise.”

He hangs up before his mother can say anything else. His fears aren’t eased, even if his mother seemed adamant that Stiles wasn’t in any type of danger. If anything, it makes him worry even more. Even though they aren’t yet completely mated, Derek can’t help how protective he’s grown of Stiles in the short time they’ve spent together.

The click of his bedroom door opening catches Derek’s attention, especially when he doesn’t hear Stiles move into the hallway. Instead, Derek practically jogs to the stairwell and up them, nearly bowling Stiles over in the process. He grips Stiles’ elbows to keep his mate from falling, and is nearly brought to his knees when he takes his next breath; the room is thick with the cloyingly sweet scent of omega in heat. His eyes catch when he starts to look up, and he can clearly see the shine of slick as it drips down Stiles’ thighs. When he finally looks up at his mate, Stiles’ unseeing eyes are half-lidded, and he looks drunk.

“Derek,” he pants.

“I’m here, Stiles. I’m here.” Derek nearly chokes on the thick scent.

In his arms, Stiles tilts his head back, baring his neck for his alpha. “Please, Derek.” His words are a muted whisper in the darkened room.

Derek answers by latching his mouth onto the puckered skin of Stiles’ shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross the following warnings off your bingo cards: rimming, fingering, anal, & come-eating.


	7. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to everyone who leaves kudos, and especially to those who leave reviews; while I may not reply to many, I read _every single one_.

Derek walks them backward until Stiles’ knees hit the edge of the bed. With one arm looped around his mate’s waist, the other cradling the back of his head, Derek gently presses Stiles to the bed, then untangles them, stepping away to strip himself naked.

On the bed, Stiles whines, breath stuttering. “Derek,” he all but sobs. “ _ Derek _ .”

Derek kicks off his boxer-briefs from where they’ve tangled around his ankles, then climbs atop Stiles, ushering him up to the middle of the bed. The air is thick around them with their mixed scents already, and Derek nearly chokes on how cloying and sticky-sweet the added scent of omega in heat is.

“I feel like I’m on fire,” Stiles whimpers below him, bringing his arms up to wrap around Derek’s neck. He’s panting, each breath short, and there’s already a thin layer of sweat making his skin glisten in the moonlight.

Above him, Derek doubts he’s ever seen anything so beautiful. Inside, however, his wolf is snarling, howling at him, demanding he pin Stiles down and  _ mate, bite, fuck, knot _ . But Derek can’t,  _ won’t _ do that to his mate. He won’t lose control, won’t risk hurting him even in the  _ slightest _ .

He bends down, guided by the tight pull of Stiles’ grip around his neck. Their lips press together in a heated kiss, and Stiles whines against the contact, gasps when Derek’s tongue pries open the seam of his lips to delve inside. One of his hands coasts upward, carding through Derek’s hair, and it earns the omega a satisfied growl.

Reaching downward, Derek grips Stiles’ hips and maneuvers the boy so that Stiles’ legs are encircling his waist. Immediately, Stiles arches his body, desperate for friction. He breaks their string of kisses, gasps opened-mouthed as Derek’s cock slides into the crease between his legs, catching on his puffy, wet rim.

The scent of Stiles’ slick as it slowly leaks out of him has Derek on the very brink of losing control. He bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, the pain keeping his mind sharp.

“Derek,” Stiles cries below him.

“I’ve got you, Stiles,” Derek assures him, nuzzling his neck, desperate to saturate his mate’s skin in his own scent.

“Please, please,” Stiles begs, his head whipping back and forth, and Derek suspects he’s half out of his mind with want and need.

“I’ve got you,” he reiterates, hitching Stiles’ hips up with the strong grip of his hands, gently turning him over.

Stiles claws at the mattress, shreds the bottom sheet with his desperation. “ _ Alpha _ ,” he all but sobs, straining his neck to the side, presenting Derek with the milky-white column of his throat.

Derek can feel his fangs lengthening. He won’t be able to hold back much longer, not with how prettily his mate begs and bares his neck. Taking care to keep his claws in, Derek ushers Stiles to rise to his knees, and the boy obliges, claws further rending deep gouges in the bedclothes. He’s all but sobbing as Derek grips his hips to keep him still, rising to his knees behind him. The breech of Derek’s fat cock into the hot depths of Stiles’ body has them both calling out. The press is easy, with how slick Stiles is, and Derek bottoms out with hardly any effort.

Under the grip of Derek’s hands, Stiles’ hips twitch, the boy attempting to move forward and press back. But Derek is already so close to losing control; he snarls, and the sound stills Stiles’ movements momentarily.

“Alpha, please,” he sobs. “Please, please,  _ please _ -”

Derek pulls nearly completely out of Stiles’ molten heat, then plunges back in, the force of it knocking Stiles to his elbows. He yelps and gasps, but Derek instinctively knows that it’s not from pain.

The pace Derek sets is brutal, and every thrust in has Stiles’ breath catching, helpless little ‘ _ ah, ah, ah _ ’s falling past his rosy, kiss-swollen lips. Derek moves one of his hands from Stiles’ waist,  presses it to the mattress, falling to his elbow and effectively bracketing his mate with his body. He can feel the uptick of Stiles’ heartbeat, since his own heart mirrors it so beautifully. Any moment, the boy is going to come; Derek can already feel his knot start to swell.

“ _ Derek,” _ Stiles sobs beneath him, his body suddenly taut and tense.

Derek presses deep within his mate, knotting him. Stars shoot across his vision as it catches, and Derek comes, the breath nearly knocked out of him with its intensity.

Stiles screams as Derek’s fangs puncture the joint of his shoulder and neck, his body convulsing as he comes all over the bed sheets.

It’s a long while before Derek floats back down into his body. His limbs feel as though they’ve been asleep for a time; tingly, but not quite numb. He can still feel his cock as it pulses wave after wave of come deep into his mate. With every new spurt, Stiles whimpers below him, shaking delicately.

Carefully, Derek unclenches his jaw and removes his fangs from Stiles’ skin. The puncture wounds are deep - there’s already a motley bruise marring the expanse of skin there - and Derek can’t help but let loose a rumble of pleasure from deep within. He laps at the blood that wells up, willing it to heal faster.

Below him, Stiles is limp and breathing heavily.

Derek is exceptionally careful in the way he maneuvers them onto their sides, meticulously making sure his knot doesn’t tug on Stiles’ rim any more than absolutely necessary. The omega whimpers and snuffles, but otherwise doesn’t protest.

After a few moments, Stiles shakes beside him.

Derek kisses his mate’s neck. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles’ sharp intake of air alerts Derek that the omega is crying. Panic begins to edge its way past Derek’s afterglow. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s not enough,” Stiles hiccups.

It takes Derek a moment to process what Stiles is saying. The way the omega hiccups and shudders, however, allows Derek to slowly realize what he means.

He presses his lips to the back of Stiles’ neck, and winds the arm his mate isn’t using as a pillow around the boy’s waist. With care to be gentle, Derek encircles Stiles’ still-hard cock with his fingers, stroking lightly as he lets his teeth rake over the base of Stiles’ skull.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Stiles shudders. He reaches out and entwines one of his hands with the other of Derek’s, breath coming in sweet, sharp little gasps as Derek works him over.

“I’ll take care of you,” Derek promises, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ mating mark.

Stiles’ breath hitches and he arches his back, grinding backwards onto Derek’s knot.

Derek snarls at the flood of sensation that ripples through his body. He’s still coming, emptying into Stiles’ body, but right now he’s slated. Stiles needs him, needs Derek to have his wits about him in order to satisfy his omega.

The slide of Derek’s hand is eased by the slick and come that’s managed to slip out around his knot, and he gathers a little more, gently brushing against where they are still joined. It earns a soft hiss and a quiet whine from Stiles, and Derek presses another kiss to the back of the boy’s head in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

“So perfect, Stiles. Like you were made to take my knot.”

Stiles grinds back against Derek again, breath coming faster and faster. Derek strips his cock, bites at his earlobe. He presses his leg up, slotting it between Stiles’, and the boy  _ wails _ , holds his breath as he comes all over Derek’s fingers. After a moment, he bats Derek’s hand away, huffing, too sensitive to keep going.

“You’re so good for me,” Derek tells him, pressing his nose to Stiles’ hairline. He pulls his mate closer in the circle of his arms, laps again at the mate mark where blood is still threatening to well up.

Stiles is asleep within minutes.

Derek chuckles warmly against his skin, pressing butterfly kisses to his shoulder blades. Stiles sighs in his sleep, contented.

It’s nearly half an hour later before Derek can pull out. As he does, a rush of come and slick floods out of Stiles and down his thighs, and his mate huffs a discontented little noise. Derek reaches over the edge of the bed and finds the towel from earlier that night. It’s not the cleanest thing, but it’ll do for now. He uses it to clean up his mate as best he can until Stiles can wake up and join him in the shower.

In the meantime, Derek has a few things to take care of. He shimmies his boxer-briefs back on, then quietly pads downstairs. He finds his phone right where he left it, but there’s no call back from his mother. Derek bites his lip, wondering what it all could mean. Stiles’ eyes hadn’t glowed silver this time, and it makes Derek begin to doubt that he’d actually seen the glow at all. Just to be sure, he calls his mother back, but her phones doesn’t even ring, and instead Derek’s call is pushed straight to voicemail. He leaves a short one, asking his mom to call him back as soon as she can, as soon as she’s found what she’s looking for.

With the phonecall taken care of, Derek steps into the kitchen. He pulls a canvas grocery bag from under the sink and begins to fill it with various items; sealed fruit cups, pouches of applesauce, crackers, granola and protein bars, a few unopened bags of beef jerky. Taking another bag out, he fills it with bottles of water and fruit juice.

What? He may have not signed up for the mating run expecting a mate, but it’s not like he hadn’t prepared for one.

When he makes it back upstairs and pushes open his bedroom door, Stiles is still on the bed, but he’s sitting up and rubbing at his eyelids with the heels of his palms. “Derek?” he mumbles when the door creeks.

“It’s me,” Derek answers, breath caught. Stiles is bathed in moonlight, pale, creamy skin looking like so much porcelain. Adoring his neck is Derek’s mark, a dark ring of a bruise in the shape of a mouth.

“What time is it?”

“About four.”

“In the afternoon?”

“In the morning.”

Stiles lets out a petulant noise, then flops backwards.

Derek huffs a laugh. “What?” he asks, stepping closer and placing the bags next to the bed. He pulls out two bottles of water, and presses one into Stiles’ open hand. He uncaps his own and takes a deep pull, draining half the bottle in one go.

“This is gonna last forever, isn’t it?”

Derek sits next to him, chuckling. “It’s just a few days.”

“I already feel like I’m going to combust.” He swallows heavily. “I don’t... Parts from earlier are a little blurry.”

Taking the bottle from Stiles’ limp hand, he uncaps it and pulls Stiles up to sit. “Drink,” he instructs. “And it’s fine. It’s your first heat; it happens. I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.”

Even in the dark of the room, Derek can see Stiles blush. The omega puts the water bottle to his lips and drinks. When he finishes as much of the water as he can, he hands it back to Derek and clears his throat. “Am I... I mean, was I-”

Derek leans forward, silencing Stiles with a kiss. “You’re perfect.” He tugs at Stiles’ hands, ushers him to stand up. The boy winces, hisses, and Derek presses another kiss to his soft lips. “Come on. I want you to shower while I change the sheets.” He guides Stiles into the bathroom, turns the taps on the shower to warm and tests the temperature with his hand. When satisfied it’s not too hot, he helps Stiles inside.

Back in the bedroom, he clears the bed of the soiled sheets, flips it, since there are claw-shaped gouges in it, and fits it with a new set. He changes the pillowcases as well, then pulls a few things from the bags and puts them on the bedside table for later. When he’s satisfied with the arrangement, he goes to join Stiles in the shower.

Under the hot spray of the showerhead, however, Stiles is holding himself up against the wall, panting. Derek pulls him out, wraps him in a towel, and sits him on the closed lid of the toilet. “Hey. Hey, are you okay?”

Stiles nods, his eyes scrunched together tightly. “I’m just hot again, and everything hurts.”

Derek moves to kneel at Stiles’ side, but the boy waves him off. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Did you want to take a shower?”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Stiles stands, but doesn’t sway on his feet. Smiling slightly, he nods. “I’m fine, really. Take a shower. I’m just gonna go back to bed, see if I can fall asleep before the next wave.”

Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ temple, and watches as he slowly walks back into the bedroom. Stiles shuts the door behind him, and Derek listens for a moment, making sure he can hear Stiles slide into the bed before he enters the shower stall. He tries to be quick, but the water sluicing down his body is divine, and he takes a moment to enjoy the feeling. He sighs dreamily as he shampoos his hair, and when he’s done, he flicks on the fan to clear the steam from the mirror. He brushes his teeth for good measure, then runs a towel through his dark locks to soak up any excess moisture.

When he’s done, he turns the fan off and exits the bathroom. The sight that befalls him when he glances at the bed makes his heart stutter, makes his wolf howl possessively within the cage of his soul. Stiles, bathed in moonlight, is panting again, stripping his cock with his fist, biting his lip and whimpering.

“Derek?” he calls, voice high.

Derek lets his towel drop to the floor as he stalks toward the bed. “I’m right here, Stiles. Right here.”

He moves to sit on the bed, but Stiles flails for a moment, flipping himself onto his hands and knees. He moves his hands around a bit, and Derek realizes that he’s reorienting himself, making sure he’s mostly in the center of the bed.

“Stiles?” He calls fondly after a moment.

He hears his mate take a deep breath, then swallow deeply. Stiles lets the breath out in a rush, like he’s gathering courage, and after a few moments, Derek understands why; Stiles plants the palms of his hands firmly on the bed, bows his back, and  _ presents _ .

The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched. Stiles looks so perfect like this, and Derek’s wolf is going  _ crazy _ , so proud of his pretty, submissive omega mate.

Derek is on him in an instant. He lets his hands coast over the tight bow of Stiles’ back, all the while a deep, pleased growl rumbling out of him.

“Derek,” Stiles whines. “ _ Alpha _ .”

Derek can’t hold back; it’s all too much. He pulls away momentarily, balancing on his knees, then guides the tip of his cock back to Stiles’ slick hole. Stiles keens as Derek presses in, bottoms out. The wolf is too close to the surface for Derek to reign all of it in; he snarls, teeth pointed and too long for his mouth, claws lengthening at the tips of his fingers. Even so, he tries his best to make sure Stiles won’t be hurt. It’s an endeavor, but he  _ refuses  _ to harm his mate.

It’s Stiles who lets out the next sound; he snarls as he hangs his head between his arms, his shoulders tense. Even without speaking, Derek knows what Stiles wants, what he  _ needs _ . He pulls back, nearly leaving the tight-hot clench of Stiles’ body completely before, with clawed fingers gripping pale, mole-dotted thighs tightly, he shoves back in. Stiles snarls again, but it pitters out into a high-pitched whine and Derek repeats the motion.

Even though Derek’s wolf is at the surface, he needs to make sure Stiles knows Derek is still there. “So perfect,” he praises, pants, his voice low and gravely. “Like you were made for me.” It makes Derek think of this undeniable bond between them, and he almost tells Stiles he’s his true mate then and there. Instead, the words trail off into another snarl, one that makes Stiles jump and tremble. “ _ Mine _ ,” he growls.

“Yours,” Stiles cries, falling to his elbows. “Yours, alpha.  _ Yours _ .” Stiles is panting into the sheets, his hands fisted in the pillow below him.

Derek can smell how  _ close  _ Stiles is. He leans over his mate, pressing their bodies together. He loves this, feeling the warmth from Stiles’ skin seep into his own. Carefully, he balances on one hand and brings the other up, tracing it downward from Stiles’ neck, all the way to his weeping cock. It fits so well in the circle of Derek’s fingers - like lock and key. Stiles’ cry as he comes is like music to Derek, who tries to press  _ deeper, harder _ , his hips slapping against Stiles’ sweat-slick ass. He can feel his knot expanding, catching on Stiles’ rim with each thrust, until Stiles is pushed forward by the force of it. Derek presses in as far as he can get, the force of his orgasm making his toes curl. He resists the urge to bite Stiles’ mate mark so soon again, instead throwing his head back and howling as he empties into his mate.

Exhausted, Derek falls forward, but catches himself before too much of his weight can press Stiles into the mattress. Below him, Stiles makes soft, fussy noises, wiping at his eyes.

“You okay?” Derek asks, worried Stiles might be crying again.

But Stiles just nods, snuffling. “‘S good. Feel so full.”

Derek kisses the back of his neck, gently turning them so they are situated on their sides again, comfortably spooning. His hands wander along Stiles’ body, gently brushing over his mate’s biceps, his collarbone and throat, his hips and thighs.

Stiles sighs contentedly, his eyes drifting close. “So good to me,” he whispers into the dark of the room.

Heart clenching, Derek presses his lips to Stiles’ temple. It’s too early to tell the boy in his arms that he loves him, but the words are  _ so  _ close to the tip of Derek’s tongue. He resigns to keep those three simple words to himself, at least for now. His mind is heat-addled, and while he feels cognitive, he understands that he might not be in the best of shape mentally.

When he feels Stiles’ heartbeat even out and his breathing become gentle, Derek allows himself to nod off for a while.

When he wakes up again, it’s daylight out, but neither he nor Stiles have moved from their previous positions. In fact, Derek’s soft cock is still nestled in Stiles’ ass. And as much as he wants to press forward, rut against his mate until he’s fully hard again, he doesn’t know how Stiles would react to being woken up like that.

Besides, the dried come and slick between them is flaky and uncomfortable.

Instead, he leans back, gently extracting himself from Stiles’ body, and leans further backward, reaching in a somewhat awkward manner behind him. He manages to nab a few packets of applesauce, a bag of jerky, and a bottle of water.

Next to him, Stiles stretches as he wakes. He makes a happy noise. Derek watches as he opens his eyes and looks momentarily frightened.

“What? What is it?”

Stiles jumps, his eyes squeezing tightly shut.

Derek stills, suddenly on alert.

It takes a moment, but eventually Stiles speaks. “It’s still... It’s still weird, opening my eyes in the morning and not being able to see anything. It’s still so new that sometimes I forget I’m blind.”

Derek leans over, gathers Stiles in his arms, peppering his face with sweet little kisses. Eventually, Stiles smiles, and soon after he starts to laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t like to see you sad. I’d rather see you happy. I want to see you happy all the time. I want to  _ make  _ you happy.”

Derek can hear the hitch in Stiles’ heartbeat. He presses a kiss to the boy’s lips, gentle and sweet, one that, after a moment, Stiles returns enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck. They stay like that for a long while, gently trading kisses, soft touches.

Eventually, Derek's stomach growls, and Stiles pulls back, chuckling. “Someone's hungry.”

Unwinding his arms from around his mate's body, he leans back and nabs some of the food he'd pulled from the bedside table. He presses a packet into Stiles’ hands, tells him it's applesauce, and takes a deep pull from a water bottle himself. When Stiles finishes with the applesauce, Derek coaxes him into eating a few strips of jerky, but from the face Stiles makes, it doesn't sit in his stomach well.

“Not hungry?” He asks, curious.

Stiles shrugs. “I think I'm hungry, but my stomach feels tender.”

“Here,” Derek says as he gently pulls the dried meat from Stiles’ hands. “It might be too much on your stomach right now. I thought protein might help, but it might be a little too complex at the moment for your stomach to handle.”

He presses a box of crackers into Stiles’ hands instead, who, after his first few bites, looks happier. “Thanks.”

Derek leans forward and kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth, earning himself a sweet smile from the boy. “Keep eating, okay? Here's a bottle of apple juice, too.” He sets it down, resting it against Stiles’ leg. “It's important to keep food in you; heats use a lot of calories. I'm gonna take a quick shower, but I'll leave the door open, so just holler if you need me, alright?”

Stiles nods, but it's only because he's got a mouth full of crackers.

Derek's shower is short; he doesn't even wash his hair, just takes care to scrub the dried come and slick from his body. If he listens carefully, he can hear Stiles happily munching away over the noise of the shower.

When he's done, he uses his electric razor to trim his beard a little. Heats last days, and usually hit hardest around the third day, so he wants to make sure that if he forgets to shave later, it won't be too much of a problem.

He pokes his head out of the bathroom when he finishes, after wiping the trimmed hair from the counter top. Stiles is asleep on the bed, curled almost protectively around his box of crackers. It makes warmth seep into Derek's heart, and he can't help the smile that curls across his lips.

Retreating back into the bedroom, Derek procures a washcloth from under the sink and wets it when the faucet finally runs warm. He finds an unopened package of wet wipes he'd all but forgotten about buying, and takes those out with him for good measure.

Back in the bedroom, he extracts the cracker box from Stiles’ tight grip, chuckling softly when the boy makes an unhappy little sound, crinkling his upturned nose in his sleep. Derek is careful as he pushes open Stiles’ legs, slow and methodically using the warm cloth to wipe his mate clean.

“Derek?” Stiles sleepily mutters, sounding only half awake.

“Just cleaning you up,” he whispers, smoothing a hand through Stiles’ short-cropped hair.

“Feels nice.”

Derek hums in agreement. He likes this, taking care of his mate in such an intimate manner.

“You take such good care of me,” Stiles yawns, pressing his face further into his pillow.

And,  _ oh _ , doesn't that make Derek's heart speed up, knowing his mate is happy with how Derek treats him.

Stiles is already back asleep when Derek leans down and kisses his temple, gently sighing against his skin. “You take such good care of  _ me _ , Stiles,” he whispers.

And it's the truth. Derek isn't sweet or sensitive or kind-hearted. He's stubborn and gruff on his  _ good _ days - ask anyone in his family. But these last few days, spent in Stiles’ company? It's like he's a different person. And he's okay with that, because he feels better like this, feels like a better person when he has someone to worry and fuss over.

He throws the washcloth in the laundry basket across the room, then lies down next to Stiles. Even in his sleep, the omega is drawn to Derek, and he rolls over slightly, pressing his face against Derek's chest, sighing softly, contentedly. Derek wraps his arms around him, fingertips drawing nonsensical patterns on his skin.

He drifts in and out of sleep for a few hours. He tries to eat a little more here and there, but he finds himself not particularly hungry.

Stiles wakes up twice to use the bathroom, but crawls back into the bed, half asleep already, snuggling up to Derek and murmuring sweet words as he falls back into the clutches of unconsciousness.

It's nearly three in the afternoon when Derek wakes for good, jostled from his restful reprieve by Stiles’ whining. He's pawing at Derek's shoulder, panting and already covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“I've got you, I'm here,” Derek tells him, his voice rough with sleep.

Stiles snarls at him, and Derek, caught off guard, is pressed flat against the bed as Stiles straddles his lap. The omega reaches behind him, grabs at Derek's half-hard cock, lines it up with his leaking hole, and impales himself, dropping down in one harsh movement so his ass is flush with Derek's hips.

They both groan at the sensation. Derek's hands move to grip Stiles’ thighs, claws dangerously close to surfacing.

“Stiles,” he hisses.

“Alpha,” Stiles cries, voice high and tight. “Alpha, please.”

Derek's instincts kick into overdrive. His grip tightens, and he raises Stiles up, nearly completely pulling out. He plants his feet flat on the mattress and bends his knees. Stiles jostles slightly, but easily rights himself, leaning back against the tops of Derek's thighs.

At the same time he drops Stiles, he thrusts up. Stiles keens, wails, falling forward and catching himself with his palms on Derek's chest. Derek repeats the motion, half lost to the hot clench of his mate's body.

“Alpha,” Stiles cries, the word falling past his lips with every thrust up of Derek's cock into his body, the word a mantra, a prayer.

“Mine!” Derek roars through a mouthful of fangs. He reaches out, fists Stiles’ cock and starts stroking, wanting his mate to mark him with the evidence of his pleasure. It doesn't take long for Stiles to come like that, and Derek pounds into him as his mate rides through his orgasm. Derek's knot starts to expand, starts to catch on Stiles’ rim and the boy cries out, head rolling back. The pressure becomes too much, and Derek thrusts up one last time, Stiles’ rim catching, locking him in. As he spills, he cups the back of Stiles’ neck with his hand, bringing the boy forward. Stiles, half boneless, falls against Derek’s chest and immediately twists his head to the side. Derek bites him without hesitation, and Stiles whimpers, presses back onto the knot that’s plugging him full.

They stay like that for a while, entwined, connected, their breath slowly returning to normal. Derek slides his fangs from Stiles’ skin, laps gently at the mark he’s renewed again, and Stiles huffs and hisses at the sensation, but doesn’t seem too pained by it. As Derek laves the mark with his tongue, one of Stiles’ hands comes up and starts carding through his hair, and Derek is all but purring given the perfection of the moment; locked tight within his mate, tending him, while Stiles comforts him with physical touch.

Slowly, Derek pushes Stiles back so his mate can lie back against his bent knees and rest. He reaches over and grabs another bottle of water, along with a protein bar and the already opened box of crackers. Though still knotted, Derek is cognizant. It’s been half a day, and he knows that Stiles needs to eat more if the boy is going to keep his strength up.

“Here, eat,” Derek instructs, pressing the box of crackers into Stiles’ limp hands.

He himself scarfs down one of the protein bars, drinking deeply from the bottle of water. Stiles seems to be struggling with the crackers, however, and it makes Derek chuckle.

Immediately, Stiles hisses and tries to adjust himself atop Derek’s knot. “Don’t do that,” he gasps.”

Derek smiles. “Don’t laugh?”

Stiles grimaces. “You’re pressed right up against my-”

Derek shifts slightly, and Stiles whimpers, biting his lip, and  _ oh, _ Derek can scent what’s going on. He pulls the box of crackers from Stiles’ hand, then reaches up and out, taking Stiles’ hardening cock in his hand.

His mate keens, shakes his head. “I don’t think I can, not so soon after-”

“Let me try?”

Stiles shudders when Derek’s thumb presses against his slit, nodding.

Derek is slow and methodical as he takes Stiles apart. It’s exhilarating, the sounds he can pull from his mate with just his hand. He watches, entrapped, as Stiles pants and shivers under his touch.

Tears well up in the corners of Stiles’ eyes, and Derek can scent that his mate is close again. He speeds the slide of his hand, increases the pressure just a fraction, twisting on the upstroke, and Stiles-

Stiles’ eyes are glowing again - a brilliant silver - as he comes, shuddering and sobbing, gasping Derek’s name.

Below him, Derek is helpless to stop from rutting upward, even as speechless as he is, and feels his knot, that was starting to diminish, begin to expand again. He knots Stiles for a second time in the same hour, locking them together.

Stiles, who has since shut his eyes tight, is whimpering from the feeling, shaking ever so slightly as Derek grinds up into him.

Reaching up, Derek places the palm of his hand low on Stiles’ abdomen, right below his bellybutton, and is left breathless as he feels the slight bulge he’s made. His wolf preens and yips, deeply satisfied, and he sits up on one elbow, desperate to see.

The shift jostles Stiles, who yelps, Derek’s name falling past his lips.

It’s instinct, Derek knows, at how satisfied he is over filling his mate so full. He does a partial sit-up, situating himself so that his legs are mostly flat, and grips Stiles carefully, not wanting to hurt his mate by mistake.

Stiles is openly shaking now, and as his arms wind their way around Derek’s neck, Derek can feel each tremor.

But instinct is a heavy thing, and Derek is helpless to keep his hands off his mate, even given how he’s still coming, locked tight inside of Stiles’ body. With one hand, he reaches down between them, wraps his fingers around Stiles’ cock again, and the boy in his lap shudders and weeps at the sensation of it. With his free hand, Derek reaches behind them, his fingers gliding over Stiles’ rim, and he marvels at how well his mate is keeping all of him inside.

Sitting like this, there isn’t much room for Derek’s hand, pressed between their bodies, but there’s a feral part of him that is ecstatic at how tight the press is, since it’s largely due in part to how full of Derek’s come Stiles is.

The boy is past words at this point, openly sobbing and he tries to move upward into Derek’s fist and backward onto his knot. For all that Derek has seemed to have lost control, Stiles’ control is  _ gone _ , and Derek growls in pleasure as he feels Stiles’ hands fist in his hair, tugging, desperate.

When Stiles comes again, it’s with a silent scream. Even before his cock has stopped spurting between the two of them, Stiles goes completely limp, and Derek has to move quickly to keep him from falling over.

It’s a slight struggle, with Stiles’ body essentially working as dead weight, but eventually Derek falls back, gently cradling Stiles against his chest.

As Derek runs his hands all along Stiles’ back, reveling in how lucky he is to have Stiles as a mate, he wonders how they are going to survive the next several days.


	8. Breaking

The entirety of the next five days passes in a blur. When Derek wakes up on the morning after Stiles’ last bout with his heat, he can smell the contentedness of his mate in the sheets next to him, who is sleeping deeply, peacefully. His scent is no longer cloyingly heady; instead, it's turned mellow and sweet. Derek suspects Stiles will sleep for a while yet, so he begins to pick up his bedroom as quietly as he can manage, throwing away the various food wrappers and tossing dirty towels into the hamper. He tugs on a pair of underwear before he ventures downstairs.

His phone is dead, and he feels like an idiot as he plugs it in. Stiles’ phone is dead, too, and Derek fishes his extra charger from his junk drawer and plugs it as well.

When he opens the fridge, he's assaulted with the stench of forgotten leftovers. He tosses them out - container and all - as he sorts through the shelves, then, when satisfied, pulls out a package of bacon and a carton of eggs. Derek is tired - exhausted, really, down to his bones - and he doesn't think he can manage much more than frying up some high-calorie food.

For the first time in days, his wolf is silent.

Derek smells Stiles before he sees him, and when he turns to greet the boy, his breath catches at the sight. Stiles stands in the doorway, clothed in one of Derek's shirts and a pair of his underpants. His eyes are half closed, and he's rubbing sleepily at them with the heels of his hands.

Stiles’ heat is over; Derek shouldn't feel so drawn to the boy, not like this. He wants nothing more than to throw Stiles over shoulder, march back upstairs, and-

Stiles presses against Derek, noses at his collarbone, huffing in an annoyed manner. “Woke up and you were gone,” he grumbles.

Derek swallows thickly. “You're heat’s passed. I thought you'd sleep longer, to be honest.”

“You were gone,” Stiles repeats, this time huffing against Derek's shirt. Derek's free hand comes up and rests on Stiles’ waist. He sighs, torn.

Eventually the bacon, hissing and spitting in the pan, needs to be flipped, and Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ temple and guides him to a kitchen stool at the breakfast bar. He flips the bacon. Then, after the other side has cooked through, he lets it cool on a plate lined with a few paper towels in order to drain the excess grease. To keep the leftover grease in the pan from spitting too much, he drains some of it into an old coffee can he procures from the fridge before he returns it to the heat of the stove top and fries a few eggs in what remains.

Derek plates their breakfast up, and then joins Stiles at the bar, taking the seat directly next to the boy. He can't help himself from pressing his knee up against Stiles’ own, and Derek takes it as a good sign when he doesn't move away.

“How are you feeling?” Derek ventures as he watches Stiles practically inhale his meal.

“Tired,” comes the reply, through half a mouthful of eggs. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

Derek bites his lip. Stiles’ voice might say one thing, but the blush creeping down his neck say something else entirely; he’s sore, but it’s a good feeling.

By the end of their meal, Stiles is practically nodding off into the crumbs left on his plate. Derek leaves their dishes on the countertop, then gently picks Stiles up, hooking an arm under the bend of the boy’s knees and hoisting him up. Without prompt, Stiles winds his arms around Derek's neck, burying his face against Derek's neck and sighing contentedly.

Derek carries him upstairs, enjoying the weight of his mate in his arms. If Stiles’ heat has truly broken, they don't have much time together left, and Derek wants to enjoy every last second he can spend in Stiles' company. As is tradition, an alpha and omega pair are separated after the omega’s heat for seven full days. After a solid week apart, hormone levels fall back to normal for everyone involved, which means that both parties can make an informed decision about whether or not they want to continue their bond or dissolve it completely, free of stress, and the possibility hormones altering said decisions.

Quite frankly, Derek doesn't know what he'll do if Stiles decides he doesn't want to continue their bond. He worries that if he tells Stiles he thinks they are true mates, Stiles might say he doesn't feel the same, or accuse Derek of being crazy for believing in what most equate to be a fairy tale. Not only that, but Derek worries over the significance of Stiles’ glowing eyes and what it could _possibly_ mean.

As Derek leans down to lower Stiles upon the mattress, Stiles’ grip around his neck tightens, preventing them from separating.

“Stiles?” Derek maneuvers a little, moves to stand on his hands and knees on the bed as Stiles continues to cling to him.

“Derek, I...”

Derek can hear the uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat, the crack in his voice just from two simple words. He feels more than hears the boy swallow against him, his breath shallowing.

“Stiles?” Derek slides one hand to rest at Stiles’ waist, while the other moves to the back of his neck, and Derek falls to his elbows, bringing them even closer.

He feels Stiles turn his head toward him, and when he, too, turns his head to face Stiles, meaning to ask Stiles what he needs, their lips connect in a sweet kiss, and Derek doesn't need to ask any longer. He presses back against the gentle pressure of their lips, reveling in the friction of their bodies as he lowers his own to press against Stiles’. Derek slots their legs together, presses one of his between Stiles’ and lets out a soft gasp when Stiles arches upward, rubbing himself on Derek's thigh. It sends tendrils of want coursing through Derek's body, igniting his blood.

Beneath him, Stiles moans and writhes. His arms unclench, slide away from Derek's neck so that he can frame Derek's face with the palms of his hands

“Is this okay?” Stiles question sounds more like a plea.

Derek knows what Stiles is _really_ asking; Stiles’ heat has passed, meaning his body is no longer demanding sex. In turn, what’s happening now, between the two of them, isn’t because of some biological prerogative, some instinctual drive that neither can ignore. Instead, it’s Stiles asking Derek if he is alright with the two of them sharing space, sharing their bodies.

And Derek can’t think of anything else he’d like more.

“Yes,” he answers, nearly breathless with need. “God, _yes_ , Stiles.”

Stiles smiles into their next kiss; Derek can feel it. His own heart feels lighter, elated, as he reaches up and divests Stiles of his shirt. He tosses it somewhere behind him, grinning from ear to ear as he looks down at his mate who wears a gentle smile on his own lips.

But unlike the last several days, Derek is determined to take this slow, make it last. Instead of pulling his own boxer-briefs off Stiles’ body, he starts at the boy’s neck, pressing kisses to his mole-speckled skin. He presses a sweet kiss to every mole he can find dotting Stiles’ chest, then move back up and does the same with his arms. By the time Derek presses a kiss to the pads of Stiles’ fingers, the boy below him is panting heavily, teeth biting at his bottom lip as he tries to keep his desperate little sounds inside.

Derek stretches up, pulls Stiles’ lip free from his teeth, taking it, instead, into his own mouth. He pulls back, worrying the flesh between his teeth, half-drunk on the taste of his mate. “Don’t,” he chides, gently. “I wanna hear every noise, every whimper you make.”

Stiles’ eyes clamp shut and he shivers. “ _Derek_ ,” he pants.

Derek presses a kiss to the mating mark, still raised, an angry pink. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles gasps, one hand gripping the bed sheet, the other moving up to tangle in Derek’s hair. Derek growls against the mark, then continues on his journey to map Stiles’ body with his tongue and lips.

He playfully teases at the waistband of the underwear Stiles is wearing. Stiles whimpers, his back arching, the hand tangled in Derek’s locks pulling ever so slightly.

Derek growls at the sensation, nerves sparking down his spine. But he ignores it, moves lower. He maps the constellations on Stiles’ skin all the way down one leg and up the other.

Below him, Stiles is shaking. “Derek, please,” he begs, and Derek is blindsided by the need in the omega’s voice.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, tugging Stiles’ underwear down, past his knees, tossing it off the bed and out of his way.

Stiles swallows thickly, obviously nervously anticipating what will come next. Now that his heat has passed, his body will no longer produce slick to ease the way for Derek to enter him. So, stretching up and reaching over, Derek fetches the tube of lubricant from his bedside table drawer.

Some part of Derek, deep and half-feral, loves that he gets to stretch Stiles out like this, prep him; part of him feels as though he’s been cheated. Slick is fine and dandy for heats - it certainly makes things easier, when both parties are half out of their minds -  but Derek marvels at the way that he can press his fingers into the willing body of his mate, offer him comfort and pleasure all at once.

Stiles keens as Derek presses two of his fingers inside of him. Derek can hear him hold his breath for just a moment before he lets it out quickly, in a studdering rush.

Derek looks up, drinking every part of Stiles in, committing his mate’s every movement, every sound, to memory. Stiles still has one hand clutching the sheets at his side, but the other has risen up, Stiles carding his fingers through his own messy locks. The sight makes Derek’s wolf growl in contentment, looking up at his mate, who’s skin is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, who’s mouth is slack and open, the most beautiful sounds falling past his kiss-swollen lips.

Derek presses another finger into Stiles’ clenching body, earning a high-pitched moan from his mate. Stiles pants, the scent of the both of them - not just either of their scents in the room mingling, but the actual scent of them, _together_ \- permeating the room, the sheets. Derek can’t get enough, no matter how deeply he breathes. He bends low and presses his nose against the base of Stiles’ dick, inhaling as deeply as he can, committing the scent to memory. Unable to help himself, he twists his head and pulls Stiles’ cock into his mouth, sucking gently at the tip before bending further and taking as much of his mate into his mouth as he can.

“Derek, please,” Stiles cries, reaching out a hand toward him, blindly pressing his palm to Derek’s bicep, the first thing he manages to get a hold of. “Please, _please_.”

Derek pulls his fingers free, lets Stiles’ cock fall from his lips with a wet sound, then leans up and hushes his mate with a gentle kiss. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Stiles lets go of the bedsheet, winds his arms around Derek’s neck. “Please,” he pants into another kiss.

Derek pulls back long enough to slick up his cock, then leans back down, gathering Stiles in his arms, looping his elbows behind Stiles’ knees. Stiles is pliant against him, his arms moving slowly, as if heavy, as they pull Derek back down.

Pressing in is easy, and Derek marvels how they fit together so perfectly. Stiles’ breath hitches as Derek slowly enters him, sighing as he bottoms out.

Derek pauses, gives Stiles time to adjust. Below him, the boy pants, and Derek can't resist pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple.

“Feels so good,” Stiles whimpers.

Derek smiles, kisses him again, then shifts slightly, putting more of his weight on his knees. Stiles gasps at the change of position, the sound stretching into a moan as Derek pulls out, only to push back in.

It's slow, this time. It's not a crazed, biological drive this time. They aren't blinded by lust, not driven by their bodies, half out of their minds

Heat sex is one thing, but this? This is dangerously close to _lovemaking_ , and the thought both terrifies and delights Derek. He can see himself loving Stiles like this every night for the rest of his _life_ and never tiring of it. The litany of noises the boy makes as Derek tries to push deeper into him is sweet music to his ears, a soft song that’s only ever been sung in the confines of Derek’s bedroom.

Stiles is shaking beneath him, _begging_ , clawing at Derek’s back and neck as he’s slowly fucked into the mattress. Despite Stiles no long being under the influence of his heat, Derek still feels half feral. His hands move to clutch Stiles’ thighs tightly, unable to help the possessive growl that rumbles out of his chest at the thought of his finger-shaped bruises branded into Stiles’ skin. It’s unfair, selfish, but when Stiles reaches one of his hands down and clutches at Derek’s wrist, pressing Derek’s fingers harder against his skin, Derek has to choke back a howl. He smothers it with an open-mouthed kiss to Stiles’ shoulder, his blunt human-teeth pressing against the half-healed mating mark.

Below him, Stiles falls apart. He stiffens for just a moment before his back arches, baring his neck as he shakes and comes, painting his belly with white streaks. Derek’s only moments behind him, his pistoning hips stuttering to a slow stop. Though they aren’t knotted, Derek stays inside his mate’s body as long as he can, reveling in the feeling.

Stiles, cheeks flushed and panting heavily, is pliantly splayed beneath Derek, who himself is struggling for breath.

Derek carefully pulls his mouth away, lapping at Stiles’ shoulder before pulling out. Stiles whines at the emptiness, the hand still entwined in Derek’s locks attempting to push Derek’s face back against his shoulder. His grip is weak, not that Derek minds at all; he presses another kiss to his mate’s shoulder, then another and another, before, mindful of Stiles’ limp body beneath his, he leans over and falls to the bed on his side.

Instantly, Stiles curls toward him, as if seeking his body heat and comfort. The omega presses his face against Derek’s collarbone, presses his nose against skin and huffing. He smells of contentment, a gentle, sweet scent that eases Derek down to his bones.

They don’t speak.

Derek reaches up and runs his hands through Stiles’ short-cropped hair, then wraps the same arm around the waist of his mate, pulling their bodies close, almost flush.

There’s no greater wish he has than to keep Stiles like this, in the circle of his arms, forever.

Stiles relaxes slowly, and Derek thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment the boy falls asleep in his arms. He lets himself have a moment of sweet bliss, his heart quietly beating in gentle tandem with Stiles’.

Derek’s half asleep himself when, from downstairs, he hears the quiet chittering of a ringtone. Were he asleep, it would be too quiet to hear, but it’s an unfamiliar noise, a tune he doesn’t recognize, and it pulls him from the half-grip unconsciousness has on him.

Slowly, carefully, he extracts himself from Stiles’ sleepy grasp. The boy makes a noise of discontent, and it makes Derek’s heart ache to see Stiles reach for the spot Derek had only just occupied. The boy snuffles in his sleep, then falls back into the clutches of the sleeping world.

He pulls on a pair of underwear before he quietly leaves the room, keeping his footfalls soft as he pads down the stairs and jogs into the kitchen. Picking up Stiles’ phone, he reads the word ‘Dad’ on the screen and makes a split-second decision.

“Sir?”

There’s a pause on the line before the Sheriff responds. “Derek?”

“Sorry, Stiles is asleep upstairs. Do you want me to wake him?”

He hears the man sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that might be a good idea. Sorry, son.”

“It’s alright, I understand. Give me a moment; I’ll take the phone up to him now.”

Derek jobs back upstairs, only after putting the call on mute. There’s a sour feeling beginning to turn his stomach, one that he knows stems from the fear that soon Stiles will leave. It’s inevitable, he knows, but that doesn’t mean that Derek likes it all.

He gently touches Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey.”

Stiles groans, rolls away.

Derek smiles fondly. “Stiles, wake up.”

His mate presses his face into Derek’s pillow. “No, thank you,” comes the muffled response.

This time, Derek openly chuckles at Stiles’ antics. “Come on. Your dad’s on the phone.”

Stiles groans, then stretches out his arm and makes a grabby motion. Derek unmutes the phone, places it in Stiles’ waiting palm, then leaves the room, allowing Stiles and his father a little privacy. He snags a shirt and a pair of jeans before he shuts the door, then pads back downstairs. Hungry again, he pulls everything needed from the fridge for sandwiches.

After a while, he hears Stiles shuffling around upstairs, hears the door to his bedroom open, then the guest room. His hands still, the ham making his fingertips a little cold. It sounds like Stiles is gathering his belongings. The Sheriff must be on his way to pick his son up.

When Derek hears Stiles’ footsteps on the stairs, he quickly snaps back to reality and finishes making their food.

He pretends not to notice Stiles standing silently in the doorway, chewing on his lip. “My, uh. My dad is on his way over to come get me.”

Derek nods, but then feels like an idiot, since he knows Stiles can’t actually _see_ the action. “I. Yeah, that’s fine. I figured. Uh, did you - I mean.” He sighs. Derek can feel his hands starting to tremble. He doesn’t want to let Stiles go, doesn’t feel like he’ll be able to. When he looks up at his mate and sees Stiles looking so sad and unsure, his heart lurches.

But tradition is tradition, and while it might not be _law_ for he and Stiles to be separated for the next week, it’s not as though Derek can contest it when Stiles’ father is _the sheriff._

“I made sandwiches,” he finally gets out lamely.

Stiles smiles, shaking his head, dumping his backpack by the doorway before slowly walking across the kitchen and holding out his hands until they find a stool at the breakfast bar. “Sounds good,” he says.

They eat in amicable silence, their knees pressed against one another, each leaning toward the other as they chew.

Stiles is licking the last drip of mustard from his fingers when the doorbell rings.

Derek swallows past the lump in his throat as he stands, then reaches out to help Stiles do the same. He picks up Stiles’ bag, silently helping his mate position it on his shoulders before they begin toward the door, Derek pulling Stiles by their entwined fingers.

Sheriff Stilinski is waiting patiently on the porch. He smiles as his son steps outside.

“I appreciate you taking good care of my son,” he tells Derek.

Derek nods, his fingers still twined with Stiles’.

Stiles begins walking with his father toward the car, and Derek thinks this is it, this is where his heart shatters, because Stiles isn’t even going to offer him a ‘goodbye,’ isn’t even going to look over his shoulder and offer a smile-

And then Derek is struck dumb and freezes completely because Stiles turns on his heel, yanks the two of them together, and plants a kiss square on Derek’s lip. Derek’s grip on Stiles’ hand tightens, then loosens as the boy pulls away completely.

Derek blinks a few times, trying to regain cognitive thought.

“Bye, Derek,” Stiles whispers as he turns around and starts toward the car again.

The sheriff, whose arms have crossed, looks bemused by the display, and rolls his eyes affectionately as his son slowly walks toward him.

“Bye, Stiles,” Derek whispers, knowing that Stiles hears him.

He watches as the sheriff helps his son get into their car, watches as Stiles turns his face slightly toward where Derek is still standing, watches as the car starts, backs up, then disappears down the long, gravel drive.

Derek starts back toward the house, slowly, his limbs feeling fuzzy, like they’re half asleep. He locks the door behind him more out of habit than conscious thought, then shuffles to the kitchen to clean up their lunch mess. He’s loaded the dishes into the dishwasher when he looks up at the counter and sees his phone. Tapping the button on the side, Derek curses when he realizes that his phone never turned back on after it had died, even after he’d plugged it in to charge. He holds the same button down, and after a moment the phone vibrates slightly, then the display screen switches on. It takes half a minute for everything to boot up completely, and Derek opens his missed call log to check and see if his mother had ever called him back.

She had. Three times. But she hadn’t left a message, which concerns Derek greatly. He dials his mother back, and Talia answers on the second ring.

“Thank god,” she breathes into the phone. “I’m halfway out the door on my way to see you. Derek, it’s much worse than we feared.”

The blood in Derek’s veins runs cold. “What? What’s wrong, what’s going on?”

“ _Stiles is a Spark._ ”

Derek nearly drops his phone. “That’s not. Mom, sparks are-”

“They’re not extinct, they’re just exceedingly rare. Maybe a handful of them exist in the whole word, and _Stiles’ mom was one of them._ ”

Swearing, Derek runs a hand through his hair. “Does his dad know?”

“I don’t know. I tried calling the sheriff at the precinct earlier, but he’s taken the day off.”

Derek growls, suddenly furious. “That’s why Peter wants him, isn’t it?”

Talia’s silence speaks volumes.

Of course that’s the reason. Weres, while inherently imbued with various magics, couldn’t actually _control_ said magics. But a Spark? A spark could actually manipulate magic. And with a Spark as mate, a were’s power would increases tenfold.

Peter had never been one set on territory, but Derek knows the business and company Peter likes to keep are less than legal on many accounts. He isn’t completely sure _what_ Peter does, but with Stiles, a Spark, at his side, there’s no telling what trouble the whole town, if not the entire state, would end up, let alone the seedy underbelly.

Sighing, Derek slips his shoes on. “Do you know their address? We need to talk to them right now, and I don’t have Stiles’ number. If Peter is let out of police custody, Stiles could be in danger. He’s wearing my mark, but we’re not bonded, not so soon after his heat.”

“You were going to ask him though, weren’t you? After the week separation was up?”

Derek snarls. “I don’t have time for this, mom. We need to find Stiles and his dad.”

“I don’t have their address, but if you call the station and explain that you think Stiles and his father might be in danger, they’ll contact the sheriff for you.”

“I’ll call, but I think going down in person might help.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Talia agrees.

By the time they hang up, Derek’s buckling his seat belt in his car before practically tearing out of the driveway.

His wolf is restless, practically pacing. It makes Derek’s skin crawl.

It’s unlikely that anyone at the station has let Peter out of custody so soon, considering he tried to interfere with a mated pair, and had physically attacked Stiles. When the entire ordeal had gone down, Derek hadn’t paid much attention to what had happened with Peter once he was out of his house, but he knows that it’s reasonable that his mom, ever the model citizen, demanded he be handed over to the police. And while Derek and Stiles hadn’t yet charged Peter with interference, the police department would have likely let him sit in the holding cells for a few days until after heat week to see if Derek or Stiles had any desire to.

“Hello, Beacon Hills Police Department.”

Derek is relieved when someone answers the phone, considering he’d only given the voice command on his phone to call in, not completely trusting if it would work. “My name is Derek Hale, and I’m calling on behalf of Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski.”

There’s a quiet beat on the other end of the line. “What’s this pertaining to, sir?”

“Peter Hale should be being held there, pending interference charges.”

“Sorry, sir, but the seven day hold was up, so he was released this morning. Again, what is this pertaining to?”

 _Fuck._ “I’m Stiles’ mate. I’m worried for his safety. I have reason to believe that Peter Hale means Stiles and his father harm.”

There’s another beat of silence. “You’re Stiles’ - oh, geeze. That boy’s nothing but trouble. Give me a moment, let me see if I can radio the Sheriff. He’s not on duty today, but I should be able to reach him through his squad car.”

Derek’s put on hold right as he’s turning around a bend, heading from the preserve into town. It’s a small stretch of highway, only single-laned in both directions, and as he eases off of the gas so he doesn’t end up taking the corner too fast, he’s suddenly slamming on his brakes as his Camaro screeches to a stop.

Overturned on the side of the highway is the Sheriff’s cruiser, smoking, windshield blown out. Maybe a dozen feet from the wreckage, Derek sees a pairs of legs peeking out of the roadside ditch.

Derek’s out of his car and running toward the body in seconds. As he nears the car, he hears the same voice that he’d only _just_ been talking to over the phone.

_“Sheriff, this is Dispatch. Come in, over.”_

The body on the side of the road is the sheriff’s, and it makes Derek’s breath catch to see the father of his mate lay lifeless in the gravel. Derek kneels down, turns the body over, hoping for some sign of life.

The sheriff’s body is covered in cuts and blood, but the man is breathing, though unconscious.

Derek immediately hangs up and dials 911.

As soon as the operator speaks, Derek’s practically screaming into the receiver. “The sheriff is down! I repeat, the sheriff is down! Highway Sixteen, just after the junction on Ceder. His car’s been overturned, looks like he’s been either thrown or dragged from the wreckage, but he’s breathing. Please, please send someone as quick as you can. Please, please-”

“Help is on the way, sir. Would you like me to stay on the line until it arrives?”

Derek realizes he’s sobbing. “Stiles. Stiles, the sheriff’s son, is missing. I can’t see him anywhere. He’s not in the car, I can’t catch his scent, but he left my house with the sheriff _maybe_ ten minutes ago. Please. _Please,_ I need to find him. He’s my mate. _Please._ ”

In the distance, Derek hears the faint wail of sirens. The emergency operator is still talking to him, but he can’t hear the words she’s saying, can’t make sense of them. His wolf is pacing, snarling, whining, _completely restless_ knowing that there’s no other explanation; _Peter has Stiles._ There are claw marks on the driver’s side of the squad car, deep gouges, which means Peter’s shifted to his Alpha form.

Tires screech to a halt behind him. Derek turns to look, his phone dropping from his hand as the paramedics rush out of the ambulance. Two of them pull a stretcher from the back of the vehicle, and Derek lets himself be ushered to the side by someone.

He scents his mom before he feels her wrap her arms around him. “How?”

“I heard the sirens on my way to the PD, and I just _knew._ Derek, was it-”

“Claw marks on the car. I can _smell him,_ mom; I can smell Peter..”

Three more squad cars pull up, and Talia, alpha of her family, lives up to her title as she stands and faces the incoming police force. “Stiles has been taken by my brother, Peter Hale. We need to start a search party for him immediately.”

One of the department’s deputy’s steps forward, pulls the radio receiver where it’s velcroed to his shoulder. “Dispatch, this is Deputy Parrish. Sheriff Stilinski is being loaded into an ambulance and taken to the closest hospital. In the meantime, I need all available units to meet me at Cedar and Highway Sixteen. Stiles has been kidnapped. I repeat-”

Derek howls. He throws his head back and _howls_ at the loss of his mate. He can feels his claws lengthening, his fangs dropping, feels the shift as it tries to rearrange his bones.

“Derek,” he hears his mother call, as if from far away.

But the wolf doesn’t want to listen; he just wants to shift, run into the forest, try to find his mate, bring him back to the safety of his den, back to where-

“ _Derek_ ,” his mother says again, the fierce alpha tone of her voice bringing Derek back to himself.

He looks to his mother, completely lost.

“Derek, if Stiles really is your true mate, you can pinpoint his heartbeat. I need you to close your eyes.”

Derek does as he’s told, gasping as he tries to keep a hold on his emotions. He takes one deep breath after another after another until he can focus his senses. He feels the beat of his heart, a heavy, quick rhythm as it beats inside of his chest. Pushing all other thought from his mind, he tries to hone-in on a single feeling, one that he’s become accustomed to over the last week; the beat of his mate’s heart.

_There._

It’s like an electric jolt goes through his body, with how tight his muscles contract. It feels as though he can feel Stiles in the back of his mind. He turns his head toward the west, toward the setting sun.  
  
Derek throws his head back and howls again, taking off into the forest. He can _feel_ Stiles’ heart, can feel the tug of it as if they are connected, tied together by fate.


	9. Deteriorating

It’s past midnight when Derek loses Stiles’ heartbeat. For one terrible, pulse-stopping moment. Derek thinks it’s because Stiles is dead. It takes him a moment, one filled with anguish that seems to stretch on for eternity, before he forces himself to calm. Though he can’t feel Stiles’ heartbeat, he can still sense his mate, just there, at the back of his mind.

He’s back on the road, naked as the day he was born, trudging back to town when he spies his mother’s car on the road. She pulls up beside him and hands him a change of clothing.

“The Sheriff pulled through,” she tells him as he pulls on his pants. “He’s awake; nothing life-threatening. He’s got a sprained arm, and needed more than a few stitches, but he’ll be released in the next day or so.”

“Any word on Stiles?” Derek asks as he climbs into the passenger’s seat.

“I was hoping you’d have something,” his mom sighs. She hasn’t moved the car; instead, she’s put it in park.

“I can’t... I can’t hear his heartbeat any longer.”

“Supposedly it happens to mates when there is too much distance between them, or when stress it too high..” Talia assures him. “You can still feel him though, can’t you?”

Derek nods.

“I thought you’d be hungry,” his mother goes on. “There’s food in the bag in the back for you.” Then, to Derek’s surprise, she hands him her cellphone. “Call the most recent number in my log back. It’s the Sheriff’s personal line. I think you need to talk to him directly.”

“Was it Peter?”

“Yes. The sheriff confirmed it.”

Derek does as he’s told. His fingers are a little clumsy - he feels so dazed - and he fumbles with the phone for a minute before he manages to hit the call button.

“Talia?”

“Derek, sir.”

“Any news?

“Afraid not. I’ve lost his heartbeat, but I can still feel him.”

“Talia mentioned that both you and her think Stiles is your mate. _”_

Derek can hear the hospital room on the other end of the line go completely quiet, save for the soft noises of various machinery. “I. Uh. Yes, sir?”

“When we were in the car, Stiles didn’t say-”

“He doesn’t... he doesn’t know. Or, at least, I haven’t told him. After the separation period, if he showed interest, I was going to ask him to... ask him to be my bonded.”

He hears the sheriff let out a long sign. “That’s. Alright. That’s - we need to find him. Talia said you headed west; did that change as you chased after them?”

“Yes. They mainly headed west, but after several hours they turned more northward.”

Derek hears frantic typing. He looks to his mother, who, for all the fear and uncertainty Derek can smell rolling off of her, looks calm and collected. After several moments, he hears the sheriff curse. “It’s mostly state park up that way; nothing but a few ranger stations, although - hold on.”

Though he doesn’t mean to, Derek holds his breath.

“There’s an hunting cabin about fifteen miles from one of the stations, up by an old logging outfit. One of my officers is calling the ranger station now.”

It’s a quiet few minutes. Derek doesn’t think his heart has ever worked so hard, pumping what feels like molasses through his veins. There’s a pressure building in his head, and he feels sick to his stomach.

“No good,” the Sheriff finally says with a sigh. “It’s owned by someone named Audaz Mestizo.”

Derek turns so fast to face his mother that he feels his neck crack. “That’s Spanish for Fearless Mongrel. There’s no way that’s _not_ Peter.”

He hears the sheriff’s sharp intake of breath. “According to the map, there’s nothing up that way for another fifty miles.”

His mother interjects. “If I may, sheriff; Peter might have attacked you in his alpha form, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he was sneaky enough to have some kind of vehicle waiting nearby. There’s really no other explanation for how he moved so fast after the crash. My son ran into the woods _minutes_ after Stiles was taken; if Derek lost Stiles’ heartbeat, the only reasonable way he could get so far would be by car.”

“Where is the cabin, sir?” Derek asks.

“There’s an old campground on Red Tail Trail; the cabin’s just past that, off an old logging road.”

Derek turns to his mother.

“Wait a minute,” the sheriff yells. “You two can’t be thinking about going there alone! Absolutely not! My deputy is still on the phone with the ranger station; they’ll check out the area, and report back to us if anything suspicious-”

Derek hangs up the phone. He turns it off for good measure.

His mother looks furious. “Don’t you _dare,_ ” she warns.

“I know exactly where the campground is; Laura used to take me there when we were in high school. I think I know the logging road the sheriff was talking about. It’s _maybe_ an hour’s drive from where we are.”

“Derek, you can’t-”

“Mom,” Derek pleads. “He’s my mate. So, either you start driving, or I’ll break a window and start running again.”

Talia Hale looks incensed beyond measure; her lips are tightly pursed, forehead marred by a deep scowl, and the knuckles on her hands are turning white from how hard she’s gripping the steering wheel.

It’s a tense few moments that pass between them. Eventually, however, Talia relents. She shifts the car back into drive, and pulls back onto the road.

They drive in tense silence. It’s nearing two in the morning when Derek hears it, the faint flutter of a sound, and then everything comes crashing around him. He grips the armrest on the door, accidentally tearing some of the leather off when he inadvertently pops his claws.

“I can hear it,” he gasps. “I can hear Stiles’ heartbeat again.”

His mother nods, eyes fixed on the road.

Up ahead, Derek can see the light from the ranger station, but it’s just from the front porch, above the door; no lights inside the building are on, and it makes Derek’s skin crawl. His mother doesn’t stop.

Further ahead, when the asphalt turns to dirt, they’re forced to slow down. The road is bumpy and unkempt, but Talia switches on the four-wheel drive and navigates the road like she does it every day. Derek’s so thankful he has someone so fearless like his mother in his life.

“There,” Derek says, pointing into the darkness, unfastening his seatbelt. The outline of the cabin is hard to see, set so far back into the forest, but Derek sees a car marked with the state park logo, and fears for the worst.

He’s out of the car before Talia has parked, legs carrying him as fast as he’s able to make them pump beneath him. He skids to a halt when he smells fresh blood, fear sitting heavy in his stomach like a stone. Hanging out of the driver’s side door is the park ranger, neck slit, eyes lifeless. Derek can still feel the heat radiating off the hood of the vehicle, and he knows that the ranger hasn’t been dead long.

The fierce roar is out of Derek’s mouth before he can stop it. He bounds up the stairs of the cabin and kicks the front door open. He hears scuffling, and instinctually is drawn to it. He takes the stairs three at a time as he climbs to the second floor. There are only two doors, one on the right, another on the left, and Derek moves, without thought, as though he’s being guided, to the one on the right.

Stiles is there, on the other side of the room, bloodied, bruised, half-naked, but, _mercifully whole._ And Peter stands above him, hand raised as if to strike.

His uncle _smiles_ at him, like the deranged lunatic he is, and Derek has only half a second before he’s rushing the man, claw and fangs out, rage fueling every atom in his body.

But Peter, even for his years, is swift, and can hold his own. They twist and tumble, scratch and snarl, all the while Stiles, blind to the world, struggles desperately to free himself where he’s handcuffed to a pipe set against the corner of the room.

Talia storms in, claws out, eyes alpha red, and she charges at her brother without hesitation.

And for all of Talia and Derek’s strength, Peter is cunning and vile in ways they aren’t. He manages to free himself, reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun.

Both Talia and Derek freeze.

Peter pants as a malicious smiles spreads across his face. “Talia, Derek, so nice of you to join us. I can tell by how still you are that you know these are wolfsbane bullets.”

Stiles freeze. “Derek?” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, such _drama_ ,” Peter exclaims, though he doesn’t look disappointed by that particular aspect at all. If anything, it only makes his smile curl further across his twisted visage. “To be fair, you all saved me the trouble of what would happen _after_ Stiles and I are bound. I knew you’d never let me get away with any of it, but now that I have both of you at my mercy, I can kill two birds with one stone. Or, rather, two wolves with one gun.”

“Don’t!” Stiles screams. “Don’t kill them! I’ll do it, Peter! I’ll submit, I’ll do anything. Please, _please_ \- just don’t kill them.”

That makes Peter pause.

Derek’s blood runs like ice in his veins. If he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat as it pounded away in his head, he’d otherwise suspect that he’d died, given how none of his limbs will move even so much as an inch.

“Such a brave offer of sacrifice, Stiles,” Peter coos affectionately, like he’s proud of the boy. “And such a _tempting_ offer. But you don’t _really_  have to submit to me for our bond to happen, and, quite frankly, if I kill them, I’ll take their power. So, you see, it’s _far_ more profitable to do things my way.”

Peter turns, points the gun at Derek, and pulls the trigger three times.

All three bullets hit Derek square in the chest. Everything in his world is reduced to nothing but pain; the wolfsbane Peter has loaded the bullets with is potent, and Derek can feel it going to work. He drops like a stone to the floor, every part of his body unwilling to cooperate.

He hears, rather than sees, what happens next; Stiles shrieks, pulls at the handcuffs until Derek can smell fresh blood, and his mother and Peter scuffle just out of his vision, the gun going off two more times before he hears it, along with a body, hit the floor.

But it’s his mother’s hands, not Peter’s, that cup his face and turn him over.

Derek has little strength left; the wolfsbane-laced bullets have torn through his heart, and he knows he’s not long for this world. Even with another bullet to use as an antidote against the poison, there’s no way his body can fight off the toxins _and_ mend a shredded heart at the same time.

“Stiles,” he hisses, through a mouthful of blood.

His mother’s soft hands move away from his face, and he hears the shattering of metal links. Stiles is by his side in an instant, tears rolling down his face.

“Derek?” he sobs as he reaches out, presses his hands against any part of his mate he can find.

“Love you,” he spits out, the world around him beginning to fade out. He sees Stiles’ lips moving, but it’s like he’s underwater for all he can hear. “Love you both,” he says again, unable to take another breath. “So much.”

Death, as it grips him, is cold and unkind; he’s shivering, convulsing, every inch of him hurting, and part of him is glad Stiles can’t actually see him like this, watch the light leave his eyes.

And then, to everyone’s surprise, Stiles throws his head back and _screams_ . The last thing Derek sees is the silver glow of not just Stiles’ eyes, but of his _entire body_ , lighting up like a supernova.


	10. Foundations

Derek’s eye flutter open. Instead of pearly white gates, he’s greeted by a white, albeit not pearly, hospital room.

And everything  _ hurts _ .

He spends a moment gathering his thoughts, glad no one is there to grill him the second he opened his eyes. It takes him a moment before he remembers what happened, and how, quite frankly, he shouldn’t be alive.

“Stiles!” Derek jerks up, trying valiantly to ignore the searing pain that tears through him. The IV he’s hooked up to tugs at his arm, and, in his weakened state, actually forces him back.

The door to his room opens quickly and his mother storms in. “You sit your ass right back down on that bed, Derek Hale,” she berates him.

A young woman in medical scrubs follows his mother into his room, pushes past her and presses Derek back against the hospital bed with the heel of her palm against his shoulder. She looks annoyed at his antics, but her fussing doesn’t deter him. She asks him how he’s feeling, but he waves her off.

“Mom, where’s Stiles? Is he-”

Talia steps around the other side of the bed, and pushes back a hanging curtain. There, quiet and still atop his own hospital bed is Derek’s mate, safe and asleep.

Everything slows. Derek’s tongue feels thick in his mouth as relief washes over him, tears pushing their way to the surface. He feels his mom place a hand on his arm, gripping him tightly.

He lets himself be eased further back against the bed, but his eyes never leave Stiles’ sleeping form.

The nurse asks him again how he’s feeling, checks his vitals, and lets him know that she’ll inform his doctor that he’s awake.

“What happened?” he asks, when the nurse finally leaves.

Talia sighs. “Well, your mate’s definitely a spark,” she says, sounding bemused. “Your wounds should have... you should be dead, Derek. Stiles’ magic healed you back.”

“How?”

His mother lets out a most undignified snort. “We’re still trying to figure it out. We’ve got a few experts flying in, at his father’s request, from across the country. Sparks are rare in the own right, but someone with the power to bring someone back from the brink of death?”

Derek glances at his mother, his eyes not straying from his mate for long. “Is he... is he okay?”

“After the whole debacle at the cabin - him yelling and  _ glowing  _ \- he just went limp. You didn’t have a single scratch on you, no bullet holes, no claw or fang wounds; nothing. The both of you were breathing just fine, but I’m not afraid to admit I was scared out of my mind.”

Finally turning back to face his mom, Derek sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, coming to realize that his mother almost had to watch her own child die before her. “I’m so sorry.” His voice cracks.

Talia moves forward and slips her arms around her son’s shoulders. “It’s alright,” she says, but Derek can smell her tears. He hugs her back tightly, thanking the stars above that he’s, somehow, still breathing.

Eventually, she pulls back and wipes her face. “He’s been asleep ever since the cabin. His vitals are fine; the doctors can’t seem to find anything physically wrong with him, other than a few cuts and bruises, so, at the moment, they are just going with extreme exhaustion. “

“How’s his dad dealing with all of this?”

“Better than I thought he would. Apparently, his wife, Claudia, was a spark, but didn’t have much power. All this time, Stiles hasn’t shown any sign of having powers, so the sheriff wrote it off. I feel bad for not talking to him after you told me what happened with Stiles’ eyes those first few days he was at your house.”

Derek’s stomach turns over. “Mom, this isn’t your fault.”

“If I had just called and talked to the sheriff sooner, we could have had a head start, we might have realized Peter’s ambitions earlier and-”

“ _ Mom, _ ” Derek practically yells. “This isn’t your fault!”

Talia moves to hug him again. “I love you, son,” she finally sighs.

Derek hugs her back. “I’m sorry about Peter,” he finally whispers.

Talia stiffens in his arms, then pulls back. “What happened to Peter wasn’t anyone else’s fault but Peter’s,” she says, her voice cold with finality. Derek, however, can still hear the sadness behind her words.

“Is he...”

“He’s not dead, no, but he’ll never walk free again. You can count on that. On top of kidnapping and attempting to break your mating bond, there’s now more than enough circumstantial evidence that Peter’s the one who blinded Stiles in the first place, all as a ploy to get him, and his powers, under your uncle’s complete control.”

Derek reaches up and wipes at his eyes with the heels of his hands. After Stiles had rebuffed Peter’s advances, his uncle had blinded his mate in hopes that the omega would fall at the feet of the first alpha to ask. Could things get any  _ worse _ ?

Leaning forward, Talia presses a kiss to her son’s forehead. “I’m going to head out for the night, tell everyone you’ve woken up. Want them to come visit in the morning?”

He nods, smiles, and bids his mother goodnight. She flicks the lights off, plunging the room into darkness as she leaves.

As soon as the door is shut, he turns back to the sleeping form across the room. His heart feels tight in his chest, and there’s nothing in the world he wants more than to fall into bed next to his sleeping mate. He  _ needs _ to feel Stiles tucked against his side, held close in the circle of his arms.

Derek had failed him, had failed to protect him from Peter’s nefarious intentions. He’d  _ promised  _ Stiles, had promised to keep him safe, keep Peter away from him, and he’d failed  _ so spectacularly _ .

He can’t take it any longer.

Slowly, carefully, Derek stands. He reaches up and slips his IV bag off of the hook, and moves it to the portable stand that is tucked slightly behind his bed. He wheels it toward Stiles’ bed, trying to keep as quiet as he can.

Outside, the moon is nearly full. He feels the pull, his wolf near the surface, pacing, desperate to be near his mate.

But as Derek looks down at the sleeping form in front of him, he knows that the both of them won’t fit in the bed together, at least not with the way Stiles is sprawled out.

Instead, Derek drags the visitor’s chair from between their beds closer to Stiles’ bed, still trying to be quiet. The chair squeals against the linoleum flooring slightly, but there’s not so much as a hitch in Stiles’ breath.

Seated so that the IV tube won’t be obstructed should he fall asleep, Derek reaches out and takes Stiles’ hand in his own. It’s warm and soft, and Derek’s wolf finally relents, quiets.

Derek doesn’t fall asleep. His mind is restless, his thoughts frantic. He’s worried for his future, for  _ their _ future; what if Stiles decides this entire ordeal with Derek and his family is too much? What if he decides that he doesn’t want to be bonded to someone like Derek, doesn’t believe that they are mates? Even though his mother had said Stiles’ vitals were fine, that besides a few bruises and scratches he’s otherwise alright, Derek can’t help the sweeping guilt that courses through him. There are a few butterfly bandages on Stiles’ cheek, holding close a cut that’s tight and puckered but not bad enough to require stitches. There are a few other, smaller cuts along his shoulders, and a very distinctive bruise around his neck.

And yet, there, decorating Stiles’ shoulder, is Derek’s mark. It makes something powerful and possessive rise up in him, a gentle, steady rumble emanating from deep in his chest.

Stiles’ body suddenly and violently jerks, and the hand that Derek’s gently holding is torn from his grasp. Stiles gasps, flails about wildly, his breath coming shallow and fast.

“Stiles,” Derek tries. “Stiles, it’s me. It’s okay. Peter’s gone. It’s okay. _We’re okay_.” He reaches out and runs his hands up Stiles’ arms.

His mate stills, his eyes shut tight, trembling in Derek’s grasp.

“You - you should be -” Stiles gasps out, shaking his head from side to side. “Derek, you were shot, you-”

Derek pulls Stiles against him, unable to deny himself any longer. Stiles buries his face against Derek’s neck, gripping Derek’s hospital gown tightly in his clenched fists.

“I don’t know how to really put this, or what your dad or anyone else feels it’s right to tell you, but you need to know what happened. You’re right; Peter shot me. Stiles, I almost died _. _ ”

Stiles trembles in his arms.

Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ temple, unable to help himself.

“How - how could-”

“You’re a spark.”

Stiles stills completely. It’s a full minute before he speaks next. “You know?”

And... Well, Derek wasn’t expecting that. “I. Uh. Not at first, no.” He sighs, gathers his thoughts.

“What do you mean, not at first? When did you figure it out?”

Derek feels his cheeks heat. “Uh.”

“What?” Stiles sounds suspicious.

“Sometimes, your eyes glow silver when you come.”

Stiles whines, likely mortified by the admission. “Are you  _ serious?” _

Derek tries to soldier on, since he can suddenly smell the sharp scent that denotes embarrassment coming from his mate. “Yes. My mother looked into it, but by the time she realized what you are and tried to get into contact with me, you’d left my house with your dad.”

Stiles sighs, and Derek can feel the weariness that’s rolling off his mate in waves. “So, what do we do now?”

Closing his eyes, Derek gathers his thoughts before speaking. “I saw my mother not too long ago; she said that some kind of specialist was on their way to visit, at your father’s request.”

“And there’s  _ no way _ he doesn’t know now.”

“Why were you keeping it a secret?”

“He’s already dealing with so much, especially concerning me; I didn’t need to give him something else to worry about. His blood pressure is already crazy high as it is!”

Derek laughs, unexpectedly, elated over how his mate seems to fuss over those he cares for so ardently.

“Well, at least now I don’t have to work so hard to keep it hidden. Honestly, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, you know? My mom was a spark, but her powers, like, were piddly. She could keep her tea warm in her cup. That was about it.”

Unable to help himself, Derek leans down and kisses Stiles’ temple again. “Well, I’d say you’re a bit more powerful.”

“Ugn, that comes with  _ responsibilit _ y. _ ”  _  Stiles says it with all the love of a child saying ‘steamed broccoli.’ Then, the boy wets his lips, and Derek feels the uptick in Stiles’ pulse. “What about, uh. What about us?”

Derek swallows the past the lump in his throat. “There’s something else you should know,” he begins. He takes a moment to think about the best way to broach the subject, but Stiles beats him to the punch.

“That we’re mates?”

Repressing the possessive growl that threatens to rise up within him, Derek takes a few deep breaths.

“That’s how you found me. You can hear and feel my heartbeat, like I can yours, right?”

There aren’t words Derek can speak to put what he's thinking into cohesive language. His grip on Stiles tightens.

“I meant what I said.”

Derek's brow furrows as he tries to recall what Stiles is talking about. His mate saves him the trouble of combing through his memories when he sighs and speaks again.

“I just want you.”

Everything in Derek's life narrows down to this finite moment; of his mate, safe in his arms, admission of want fresh on his tongue. The words echo in Derek's head like a church bell, loud, near deafening, even though Stiles had whispered. His heart clenches, aches, and Derek knows that while things aren't perfect in his life, everything just shifted the scales toward his favor.

“And I meant what I said,” Derek counters, pulling back and cupping Stiles’ face in his hands. “I love you.” He punctuates the simple three word sentence with a kiss, puts everything he is, everything he feels for his mate, into the press of their lips.

Stiles sighs, and the sweet scents of relief and happiness flood Derek's nose, flow through him and ease his own heart. Stiles’ hands, still clutching the fabric of Derek's hospital gown, tighten, pull them close together.

A knock softly sounds at the door, and Derek slowly pulls away from his mate. Stiles’ cheeks match the rosey colors of his lips, and Derek wants to lean back in and kiss him again, push his tongue past the seam of Stiles’ lips,  _ taste  _ him. Instead, he bites his tongue to focus his mind elsewhere.

“Come in,” he says, and,  _ oh _ , his voice is already gravely, half an octave deeper just from the simple act of kissing. He'd think the boy in his arms might be the death of him, if he didn't already know it was true.

The sheriff walks into the room, dressed in his civilian clothes, looking tired but relieved. He nods to Derek, then flips on the light.

Stiles recoils away from Derek, bringing his hands up to shield his face. He yelps, and the noise instantly sets Derek on edge, his wolf suddenly on high alert.

The sheriff is by their side in an instant, reaching out and touching Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles? Son?”

Stiles’ head whips to the side, and the boy completely freezes.

The sheriff looks to his son, then to Derek, then back at his son. “Stiles, it's me,” he says, and Derek doesn't have to be a werewolf to know how frightened the man is.

“I can see that,” Stiles snarks in reply.

The sheriff huffs a nervous laugh, more caught off guard than anything.

“No, dad,” Stiles goes on slowly, like he's speaking to a child. He raises his head, his honey-brown eyes looking directly at his father's face. “I can see that.”

The air in the room is suddenly gone. Everyone freezes, no one breathes.

“Mieczyslaw?” The sheriff's voice quavers when he speaks.

“Dad,” comes the reply, and Stiles reaches out, breaks away from Derek's grasp, leans over and grabs onto his father's shirt. “I told you not to wear this shirt anymore,” he says, and Derek can smell the tang of saltwater. “There's a hole in the left armpit, and it's not a good color on you.”

The sheriff practically falls over in his scramble to pull his son into a hug. Derek sees the glint of tears in his eyes, and can't help the tightness in his own chest.

Slowly, Stiles and his father pull apart. Stiles,however, carefully keeps his head turned downward, averting his eyes.

Worry begins to seep into Derek's mind, and his tongue dries in his mouth.

Stiles reaches out and pulls Derek's hands into his, then slips his arms over Derek's, so their forearms are resting against one another's. Derek watches as his mate takes a deep breath, followed by another and another. Derek can clearly see the trails of tears that are falling from his eyes, crawling down his face. Stiles’ face slowly creeps up, moving at an agonizingly sluggish pace, until he and Derek are finally looking into one another's eyes.

“Oh no,” Stiles breathes, otherwise unmoving.

“What?” A million questions fire through Derek's brain, but Stiles puts them all to rest with two simple words:

“You're hot.”

Derek goes still again. His eyes search Stiles’, but his mate stares back at him, blinking rapidly. “What?”

“You didn't tell me you were this hot,” Stiles says, like it's an accusation.

“Sorry?” Derek replies back, completely dumbfounded.

Stiles’ hands move up, cup Derek's face with his soft palms, and turn Derek this way and that, and Derek doesn't know if he should feel violated or not, given that he's being inspected. “Holy shit, how are you real? How are you mine?”

The sheriff starts to laugh, though he tries to hide the first few chuckles that rise up out of him with his hand. When that proves futile, and both his son and Derek turn to look at him, he drops all pretense and practically loses it with how hard he's suddenly laughing.

Derek turns back to Stiles, who also turns to face him. Unable to help the smile that begins to crawl across his face, Derek falls victim to the sheriff's contagious laughter. With his hands still on Derek's face, Stiles smiles, then dissolves into a fit of giggles alongside the both of them.

When they all regain their composure, the three of them wipe their faces free of tears.

“What am I going to do with you?” His father sighs.

Stiles smiles cheekily. “Come with us to the courthouse as soon as they open so Derek and I can get bonded?”

The sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose. “Like anyone is going to stop you at this point. But can you at least wait until they officially release you from the hospital?”

The sheriff gets his wish: it's a full week before they let Stiles leave. Derek is released on the third day, after the specialists his mom mentioned had come and not only questioned him until he nearly lost his voice, but given him a thorough inspection. He wasn't happy about being poked and prodded, both physically and mentally, but he understood the necessity of it. He spends nearly every waking moment he's able to at Stiles’ side, and only leaves at night when Stiles demands he goes home to sleep. Peter's behind bars, but Stiles is still left under guard by someone from the police department at all times, so Derek, while he's not happy about it, eventually acquiesces. He doesn't sleep well, not without Stiles in the circle of his arms, and he's back at the hospital most mornings before his mate wakes up.

The specialists are apparently staying in town for some time, and set up several appointments to speak at length with Stiles further about his powers. One of them even mentions the possibility of Stiles learning to control what they seem keen on calling his 'gift,’ and Derek doesn't refute the name. He does, however, notice the glint in Stiles’ eye, but lets it drop.

They sign their bonding certificate at the courthouse on a Tuesday morning. His mom and dad are there, and Stiles’ father and best friend attend. Everyone else in Derek's family has been placated with the promise of a bigger ceremony in the months to come, what with not being invited to the courthouse for just their signing. Stiles had rolled his eyes at the prospect, but hadn't otherwise rebuffed the idea of it.

“So,” Derek teases, dressed in a sharp suit, as he signs the binding licenses on the line next to Stiles’ real name. “Mieczyslaw, huh?”

Stiles smiles, an eyebrow raised when Derek actually pronounces it correctly. The dark red of his tie clashes beautifully against his pale skin, and it makes Derek want to lean in and renew his claiming bite. Thought sets his blood alight.

“Mieczyslaw  _ Hale _ ,” Stiles counters, and doesn't  _ that  _ shut Derek.

They take pictures on the courtroom floor, the first few just he and Stiles, then more with their families.

Scott shakes Derek's hand. “If you ever hurt him,” he starts, but Stiles cuts him off.

“He's already pretty much died for me, bro. Come on.”

Scott looks spooked, reminded of the whole affair, but oddly placated.

The entire ride back to Derek's house is spent in silence. Sometimes, Derek catches Stiles looking at him from the corner of his vision, but he lets his mate look all he wants. Derek had an entire week to gaze at Stiles without being caught; he lets the boy look his fill.

He helps his mate take his suitcase from the trunk of the car, knowing the sheriff - John, he'd insisted Derek start calling him - will be by in a few days with more of Stiles’ things. They walk, hand in hand, to the front steps, but Derek holds out his hand and places it on Stiles’ chest when he opens the door. He puts Stiles’ suitcase just inside, then turns around and swings Stiles into his arms.

His mate laughs, elated, obviously not having expected to be carried past the threshold. He presses a kiss to Derek's cheek.

Derek kicks the door shut, keeping Stiles in his arms. He begins toward the stairs, toward their room.

“I love you,” Stiles confesses, lips pressed against Derek's temple.

Derek is endlessly thankful his mom had talked him into participating one last time in the mating run. He kisses Stiles, presses him into the bed, into  _ their  _ bed. “I love you,” he says in reply, heart and mind at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin~
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it. If you'd like, check me out on tumblr as madcapromantic, or my exclusive Sterek blog as towhomthewolfkingbows.


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